


Building Bridges

by undigniFiend



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus & Guillermo del Toro
Genre: Ancient curses, Basically “What if the Trollhunters villains were under a lot more stress?”, Bular and Stricklander squabbling over the logistics of teleporting and supplying an entire army, Dream Magic, Eldritch!Gunmar, Gen, Gumm-Gumm cultural speculation and how surviving the Darklands may have altered them, I don't care that it was canon Gato can take a hike, I will update the tags and warnings if that happens, Intrigue, Jim Does Not Approve of Rule #2, Making it weird, Manipulation, No Kids Will Be Involved In Vore, and never getting any rest, even when he's being a buttsnack, flagrant use of airhorns, i love Draal ok?, i will update relationship tags if/when they happen, if you need me to tag something let me know, in this house we love and appreciate Toby Domzalski, psychic magic, some scattered trollish worldbuilding ideas, somewhat-less-Eldritch!Bular, sort of accidentally on purpose adopting your archenemy, warning: might be some occasional vore later because who the hell do you think I am
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 41,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24378799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undigniFiend/pseuds/undigniFiend
Summary: Forget all worries about scrutiny, any attempt on Jim’s life risks passing the Amulet on to a potentially stronger, more stubborn opponent than a human child. But it’s only funny until Gunmar and his forces realize they’ve landed one of the weirdest bodyguard operations in history.An AU where Gunmar and Bular grapple with an ancient curse, the Gumm-Gumms are more than an army, and the Eternal Night isn’t about blocking out the sun.(It's basically villains arguing over how to properly manipulate Jim while slowly realizing that if anything happens to him, they'd kill everyone in this room and then themselves.)
Relationships: Aaarrrgghh/Blinkous "Blinky" Galadrigal, Barbara Lake/Walter Strickler | Stricklander
Comments: 168
Kudos: 331





	1. Chapter 1

Gunmar laughed.

Wheezed, more like. Even in the dreamscape of their secret meeting, the sluggishness from starvation in the Darklands followed him, and the desperate rasping of his lungs was as horrific as any death-rattle; a tattered echo of his former, inspiring strength. Bular’s chest tightened in dread. He hoped this was just a twisted vision spawned from his own worries, and not a true reflection of the strain his father had suffered for hundreds of long years in a barren hellscape.

Gunmar laughed so hard he flopped onto his back in the snow of the dreamscape. It was always snowy when they Visited through dream-magic – a secure and reliable method of relaying information and orders so long as all participants had the mental discipline for it. But Gunmar carried the cold of the Darklands with him even here. Bular hoped it was because he liked it that way, and not because Gunmar had reached a stage where he had to be choosy about where he focused his dwindling energy.

Stricklander, sitting next to Bular, shared a perturbed glance with him. The changeling’s dream-form wavered fitfully between his trollish and human states. Looking at him was like looking through a candle-flame. Bular hoped he in turn did not look as lost as he felt. And he had felt lost since Stricklander had revealed the new Trollhunter’s identity to him, a mere hour ago in the canal, next to the rubble of Kanjigar’s body. They had immediately gone to Stricklander’s home to relay the news.

“A human child,” Gunmar echoed, calming enough to marvel at the starless, shifting, cavernous sky overhead. “The new Trollhunter...” A few more tremors of humor rattled through him as he propped himself up on his elbows, not even bothering to sit all the way up again. As the laughter finally died down, it left him pensive, his eye studying patterns only his own mind could see. “Perhaps the Amulet’s selection process is more random than we surmised,” he speculated. For a moment he was all business, and then that terrible laugh started up again.

“He won’t last long,” Bular said, mostly for the sake of saying anything. He hated pointing out the obvious, but he had to drown out that awful rasping somehow or he’d have to punch something. His father had never sounded so frail.

“He had _better_ last long,” Gunmar corrected. “As long as a human life can stretch.”

Caustic nausea swirled through Bular as he fretted over the implications of that baffling decree. His father’s nature had been hotly debated by trolls the world over ever since he emerged from the Blackened Heartstone, a fully-formed and tribeless anomaly. Some said he and his progeny could sense things others couldn’t, and Bular knew this to be true. But where the senses were constant for his father, and seemed to work on places and items as well as people, Bular’s only worked when properly attuned to sentient targets. He and his father had taken to calling it _Insight_ in Old Trollish – a glyph with an amalgamation of facets they had tacked on and sculpted over the centuries based on their attitudes about it, ranging from _Hidden Power_ to _Insufferable N_ _oise_. It was simultaneously a private joke between them, and a jagged blade that cut its wielder just as much as the wielder’s target.

And for centuries, it was only another layer of isolation that Bular had to shoulder, as the last of his tribe on the Surface. Trolls, humans, and everything in between and beyond seemed to him and his father like submerged things, trapped in their own skulls, blind and deaf to all but the strongest shadows of signals from other minds, and oblivious to the signals they themselves emitted. Some who doubted the rumors of _Insight_ claimed Gunmar suffered a kind of insanity. Bular had always dismissed the latter speculations as propaganda, but now, at his father’s latest words, he worried.

What else was insanity, after all, but getting attached to one’s enemy? Gunmar either had a plan that Bular could not yet see, or his mind was deteriorating as well as his body. Bular did not know whether to be grateful or not for his father’s habit of closing himself off from others’ _Insight_. Seeing the answer he feared would be agony.

Stricklander looked just as gobsmacked when Bular glanced at him again. But something warm and bright and unseen radiated from him, a brief flash that smelled like wild hope and barely-checked relief. Maintaining the same, mutual dream attuned their minds, and _Insight_ washed over Bular in a soothing, confusing tangle with his own worries. Hints of gentle blue eyes and earnest effort. A distant scene of that same boy standing up for another when no one else would, earlier that same day. A whelp happily carrying more than he was prepared to handle, just so his overworked mother wouldn’t have to. Bular bared his teeth at an unwelcome and alarming pang in his own chest.

“Killing the boy would draw attention from both Trollmarket and the human world,” Stricklander said, confident and composed as a sage. Without the _Insight,_ Bular would not have been able to see through the changeling’s artful concealment of his relief, and the cheerful reinforcement of an idea he almost hadn’t dared hope for, disguising it as practicality. “We can’t afford that risk.”

Classic Impure, getting attached to the human world and the humans therein. Worst of all, Bular could not blame him for it – not after glimpsing the boy through Stricklander’s own eyes. Had Gunmar seen the same and succumbed to it? Was that why he wanted the boy alive? Bular huffed a breath and curled a fist, resisting a violent impulse. It made his gut simmer, but there was little point in punishing an Impure for having a fickle human heart. That was just the way they were. Everyone knew it, but no one liked the reminder. Not even the Impures, themselves.

Bular’s own _I_ _nsight_ frustrated him more than the Impures’ fickleness, in truth. It was always harder to punish one who genuinely meant to be better than they were – who would have been better, had they not been contaminated for the sake of the cause. Who still tried to be better despite that. Sometimes Bular wished he was a submerged thing, too, to spare himself that understanding. Staying detached despite the _Insight_ was a necessary and constant struggle. He had yet to master it, as Gunmar (hopefully still) had.

Gunmar hummed, the shadow of an idle growl resonating in his chest as he eyed the changeling. He saw the blue in Stricklander’s inconvenient heart, too. “It would be a waste, wouldn’t it?” Gunmar asked. “To give the Amulet a chance to choose more capable hands.” His laugh was closer to an angry bark this time, but it sounded strong enough that Bular felt a little better. “If it weren’t such a Merlin-like move, I would think the damned thing is finally breaking. But we can play the dead wizard’s game. We can beat him at it.”

He didn’t so much sit up as suddenly appear sitting, icy gaze fixed down on Stricklander. “Watch this ‘Jim Lake Junior’. Keep him alive. Win him over before Trollmarket does, if you can, or after if you can’t. You know him better than any of us, so I will leave all dealings with him to your discretion. Having a Trollhunter on our side has proven advantageous before. Perhaps it will again, even one so small, weak, and malleable as this one.”

Bular had to fight down a laugh at Stricklander’s stunned expression. But the confirmation that Gunmar remained as sharp as ever, despite everything, was such a relief he couldn’t help smiling. Impures had weaknesses, but Gunmar had to use what he had, and he excelled at using others’ weaknesses to his advantage. The best way to get anyone - Impure or not - to do what you wanted, was to have them do something they already wanted to do. It was just a matter of finding where those motives lined up.

And sometimes it was their own fickleness that made an Impure perfect for a mission. “Thank you, Lord Gunmar,” Stricklander nearly stammered under another surge of hope, his mind already eagerly churning through factors and forming strategies to ensure Jim’s survival. “I will not squander this opportunity.”

“You both did well in bringing this news to me swiftly,” Gunmar said, and his eye turned toward Bular, proud, resilient, and beyond reach as a star. “Focus your attention on developing the base, my son, but assist Stricklander as required in securing the Amulet, and its new wielder.”

Bular bowed his head in respect and gratitude for his father’s tenacity. Even weakened, Gunmar stayed strong, and he would be stronger than ever when he finally returned to the Surface. It could be sooner than he had dared to hope. “Gladly, father.”

“Call to me when you have need.” Gunmar’s usual dismissal.

The dream darkened until Bular opened his eyes, sitting in a meditative pose that mirrored Stricklander’s human form. The changeling’s green eyes were wide in the darkness of his house’s living room – impeccably neat save for the couch that had been shoved against a wall to grant Bular enough space to sit. Stricklander still wore the same expression he’d had when Gunmar gave him his new assignment.

Bular sighed and popped his neck as he clambered to his feet. “Guess I’ll have to re-think my dinner now,” he grumbled.

Stricklander snapped out of his stupor with a withering glare. The indignant transition was everything Bular had hoped it would be, and he flashed him a toothy grin. The changeling rolled his eyes as he neatly stood up, brushing imaginary dust from his trousers and jacket with quick, efficient strokes. “Yes, you must be heartbroken,” he said.

“Only a little,” Bular shrugged, debating how much of a rise he might get out of Stricklander by leaning against the drywall. Flimsy crap. He always punched through it without even trying. “I’ve seen this Jim of yours. Wouldn’t even be able to pick my teeth with him.”

Stricklander seemed caught between offended and impressed. “When did you have time for spywork with Kanjigar chasing you around each night?” He double-checked to make sure all his blinds were closed (they were) before flipping on the lights and entering the kitchen. “Worried the Janus Order isn’t watching the right people?” A whole pile of deflections. That protectiveness was going to be a double-edged sword, Bular predicted.

“I never needed to spy on him,” Bular said, leaning back against the counter with his arms folded. “Not when he leaves such loud echoes in your mind.”

Stricklander paused in filling a tea-kettle with filtered water, closed his eyes for the count of one breath, and deemed all the unflattering things he wanted to say too unwise to voice. As curious as Bular was about those thoughts – Stricklander could be delightfully creative - he was glad their minds were no longer attuned enough for _Insight,_ and he resisted the instinct to let it flare back up. Witnessing another’s frustration was more fun than experiencing it.

And he couldn’t let Stricklander think he had gotten away with something. Gunmar knew the dilemma in Stricklander’s dual-natured heart. And if it came down to a choice, he’d know what to do with the Impure if he chose poorly.

Stricklander decided to speak after all, quiet and firm. “What do you want, Bular?”

“You could order me a pizza,” Bular suggested.

“No murders at my house,” Stricklander recited one of their old rules, half-distracted as he rummaged through boxes of tea in a cabinet. “And if you have any objections to my new assignment, then please, bring them on.”

“I trust my father’s judgment,” Bular said.

“But not my own?” Stricklander asked, watching him.

Bular snorted, casually stepping away from the counter and heading for the back door. “Managing human whelps is your day-job, and you’re too fond of this one to fail. But on the off chance that he’s more trouble than he’s worth, I’ll make his death quick.”

Stricklander’s quiet sigh sounded closer to his real age than his apparent one. “Can’t you just paint something instead of pestering me whenever you get worried?”

“Just giving you fair warning, Impure,” Bular tossed over his shoulder, perhaps a little quicker than he meant to. Stricklander’s own ability to read people bordered on uncanny sometimes. Bular barely caught some sarcastic quip about ‘professional courtesy’ while squeezing through the door frame and out into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Two nights passed, and Bular spent them in the forest beyond the outskirts of Arcadia Oaks. For the first time in decades, his nights were quiet. No Trollhunter to battle, or to distract from the changelings’ operations. Just a vast, echoing cavern system, the waterfalls and pools running through it, and the wards he had concealed near its hidden entrances.

He favored two kinds of wards. The first was a type of aversion glyph that inflicted dramatic levels of boredom on any not pledged to Gunmar. Hikers occasionally wandered near, and almost all went away soon after. The second kind of ward alerted Bular to intruders who had accidentally managed to bumble their way through the sudden and overwhelming desire to be anywhere more interesting. In the century since Bular had first found the caverns, he had only had to eat four intruders, and after pestering Stricklander to get him human maps of the region’s geology and parks, he felt a smug triumph at the confirmation that these caverns remained his secret.

They would be a fortress someday. Gunmar’s first foothold in reclaiming the Surface – sheltered from the sun, hidden and protected from their enemies, spacious enough for several tribes, filled with and surrounded by natural resources, and within striking distance of several towns, including Arcadia Oaks. For the first time in decades, Bular had free reign to reinforce the tunnels, clear passages of loose stone, shape and set ramps for the carts they’d need to transport supplies to the different levels, and consider optimum placements for lookout posts.

A favorite game involved imagining he was an approaching enemy trying to spot weaknesses in the natural defenses, and using that to plan what reinforcements would be needed to compensate. When his people finally returned, he’d lead squads on drills to test and fine-tune their defenses.

The biggest concern was the collapsed ceiling in the largest of the eastern chambers. It was wide enough to provide light for a grove of pine trees down at the bottom during the day, but remote enough from the rest of the cavern system that Bular considered leaving it open and exposed. Moss carpeted the damp ground, well-fed from a stream that meandered around the trees. It would make a prime spot for stalklings to roost, and an impressive (if deadly) sun-calendar if they could mark the sunlight’s passage across the floor and walls properly. And something about the grove held an energy that reminded Bular of the Old World, but it was so faint that he couldn’t be sure if it was the whispering of _Insight,_ or if he was just being fanciful. Gunmar would know, so Gunmar would decide what to do with it.

On the third day, Bular grew restless. He had been given innumerable cheap flip-phones for emergency contact with the Janus Order, and he hadn’t managed to accidentally crush this one or let it run out of battery life yet (thought it was getting to be a near thing, at only 7% charge). But Stricklander had not deigned to update him on any of his missions’ progress, and that could mean anything.

They had set his phone up with Stricklander on speed-dial. Bular had the patience to press the microscopic ‘1’ button carefully about six times, but after six straight-to-voicemails, his claw punched through the keypad and the screen blacked out. Just after dark, he set out for Arcadia Oaks.

Stricklander’s house was not far from the outskirts, but as Bular moved along the edge of the forest, he spotted Stricklander’s car before he got anywhere close to the right cul-de-sac.

“...gem forms, Heartstone!” A human whelp’s voice cut through the night air. Two boys walked their bikes up the street, and Bular held still and quiet in the dark. “What you’ve gotten yourself into is total-awesome-mania, man!”

“If I survive!”

“Come on! You’re gonna get trained by the best! Blinky is - ”

“His last guy got torn limb from limb! On his first night!”

While always flattering to hear tales of his own exploits (and genuine fear in their recounting), Bular had to bite his tongue to hold back an annoyed growl. Trollmarket had gotten to the Trollhunter first, and identified his enemies for him. Stricklander had been too patient yet again.

“...So there’s nowhere to go but up!”

Bular sullenly agreed.

After the boys parted ways, the Trollhunter entered the same house Stricklander’s car was parked in front of. Bular kept low and silent as a hunting cat as he approached the frontmost window on the side of the house. Stricklander was seated just inside, with his back to the window, and Bular managed to duck out of sight just before the boy greeted his teacher. Perhaps he had arrived in time to witness Stricklander clean up his act.

It was surprisingly painful to hear. All these dropped hints and double meanings. Stricklander was talking to the boy like a changeling operative, and Bular didn’t need _Insight_ to know he wasn’t getting through.

It didn’t help that the boy’s mother had no idea what was happening. The operation didn’t exactly require her to know, but Bular could not imagine keeping dangerous secrets from his own father. It was a matter of survival. She could not protect herself or her son from what she did not know.

Was refusing to communicate properly some kind of fleshling game? The only reason Impures were devious was because fleshlings were… Perhaps this was some strange form of entertainment, or a social ritual? Whatever it was, no wonder it was taking so long for Stricklander to win the boy over. Trollmarket’s agents must have been sensible and direct, and that’s why they got him first.

Bular scowled, debated trying to attune for _Insight_ so he’d gain some understanding of this verbal tiptoeing, and shuddered in horror at the thought of exposing his brain point-blank to so much inefficiency.

Stricklander excused himself out the front door before long, and Bular kept watch on the fleshlings as they shared a more private conversation. He decided to wait and catch the boy alone, and do this right.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Bular returned Stricklander’s disapproving glare. “Shouldn’t I? Trollmarket beat you to him.”

“They had a head start,” Stricklander allowed, approaching. “But this is far from unsalvagable. The more he learns from them, the more he can tell us - ”

“We already have infiltrators,” Bular snapped.

Stricklander’s eyes narrowed with a chastising flash. “...The more he can tell us about the Amulet,” he finished. “Its complexities are not exactly common knowledge. In training with those who have closer direct experience with its history, he is in a unique position to gain greater understanding than we can unearth from records alone. Besides,” he spared a glance through the window into the kitchen, keeping an eye on the fleshlings as they started cooking their supper. “Humans are just as sensitive as any prey animal to the feeling of being pursued. Chasing him down directly would be ill-received, and I may have been too forward tonight… Building and maintaining trust takes patience.”

“We can’t afford patience,” Bular growled, baring his teeth. “If anyone in Trollmarket has any sense, they’ll be conspiring to kill him so they’ll gain a stronger champion. It’s what we’d do. We can’t let him go back there.”

“Then it’s a good thing we have infiltrators, remember?” Stricklander smirked. “Krax has reported no more than generalized complaining among the populace, and a mild confrontation between Jim and Draal.”

“There’s nothing mild about Draal,” Bular huffed. “And Krax has all the combat prowess of a sleeping toad. If it turns into a fight or an assassination down there, beyond my reach, Jim will die.”

Stricklander sighed, and true irritation crept into his tone. “Are you deliberately being stupid? Aarghaumont has taken a liking to Jim.”

“That coward hasn’t fought in centuries!” Bular hissed through clenched teeth and gave the ground a solid punch. He barely remembered to keep his voice down. “Am I going to have to mercy-kill you right here? What _bushigal_ \- ?!”

He could almost picture Stricklander’s wings snapping out in an aggression display. “He was a general for a damned good reason, and our dossier on him implies a strong enough guilt complex that - ” A quick double-take at the kitchen window was all the warning Bular got before Stricklander shoved him back toward the trees. He had almost forgotten how deceptively strong Stricklander could be when panicked, and it was absurd enough to smooth the edge off his rising anger.

They hid in the foliage, still, silent, and uncomfortably close, as the Trollhunter leaned his head out the window. Wide blue eyes searched the darkness uneasily before he ducked back in, gently closed the window, and answered some idle question from his mother.

“Father ordered me to assist you as required,” Bular growled, glaring down at Stricklander as the changeling stepped back to a more formal distance. “Clearly, you require it.”

“Bular, I’ve been carefully laying the groundwork,” Stricklander insisted. “There are many factors at play here. If we move rashly, we risk upending everything, and entrenching the Trollhunter even further into Trollmarket’s side.”

“We’re already risking that by letting Trollmarket do all the talking,” Bular countered. “Talk to him soon, Impure. Or I will.”


	3. Chapter 3

Early the following night, Krax reported in with a hidden live feed of Draal trouncing the Daylight out of the human Trollhunter, and then dangling him over the pit in the Hero’s Forge.

Everyone promptly lost their minds.

Bular nearly trampled a handful of scrambling Impures on his way out of the Janus Order’s local headquarters, barking orders into someone else’s phone to have Krax prepare to open the way into Trollmarket for him. If Jim was somehow still alive, few things helped cement an alliance quite like a rescue mission. And if the Amulet was about to choose another Trollhunter, he wanted to give them as little time as possible to prepare for their execution.

Stricklander’s voice came through on several channels of their network, trying to organize the Impures for ‘damage control’ or something overly patient like that. He would be dealt with later.

Bular was about halfway to the bridge over Trollmarket, taking the sewer route, before he registered what was happening in the live feed.

“ _-were definitely not paying attention back there,”_ the Trollhunter was saying, his voice somewhat muffled by the careful distance Krax kept. _“Shame was about the only thing that transpired! Shame, and realization…”_

So Draal had let him live? Bular paused, watching the screen in his palm. He could barely see the Trollhunter from over Aarghaumont’s shoulder, standing near the bottom of the crystal stairs.

“ _I don’t know if Draal should be the Trollhunter or not, and I don’t care. I just know that… I’m not.”_

Bular huffed, listening as metal bounced off crystal. “If only it were that easy, boy,” he muttered, picking up the pace again. “We would’ve won a long time ago.”

By the time Bular had eyes on the bridge, the boy had finished walking his bike up the side of the canal, and started pedaling for home. Bular called off the Janus Order, turned off the phone, and shadowed him the whole way.

There was no car in the driveway. Jim opened the garage door, flipped on the light, and walked his bike inside.

Bular braced a forearm against the frame of the garage door and ducked to see in. “Boy.”

To his credit, Jim didn’t scream. His helmet clattered on the concrete floor, and he stared up at Bular like a snared rabbit. “What...” he swallowed, keeping his eyes trained on Bular as he slowly picked up his helmet. “What do you want from…?”

Jim trailed off as Bular shook his head. “Relax. I’m not here to threaten you,” he said. “And you must be sick of lectures about destiny by now.”

Barely a wince, but it spoke volumes. Frustration, confusion, and hurt tangled like an aura of vines around the boy. The back of Bular’s mind tingled as he let his mind attune, and _Insight_ began to filter in. He felt the weight of Jim’s exhaustion, and the stiffness of developing bruises around his ribs. The memories of having all his expectations for himself built up, and then crushed in one giant hand. Crushed into something small, and helpless, and despised.

Bular decided that he would never call Jim ‘Trollhunter’. The boy wanted to be seen as himself, not his duty. And to be reassured that he was still enough without the Amulet.

“More than a little,” Jim admitted. He looked ready to bolt in a split-second, still reeling from the impact of an angry troll’s fists and words. And this new, unfamiliar troll with dark stone, fiery eyes, uneven horns, and massive swords looked far from harmless. “So, what are you here for, uh…?”

“Your trainers haven’t told you everything,” Bular said, ignoring the invitation for his name.

Jim looked away, his eyes fretful and his insides twisting with shame. “Yeah, well, I didn’t get very far.” He blinked and hope cut through all the tangles like a sun-ray. “Wait, are you saying there really is a way to break the bond?” Jim pulled the Amulet out of his pocket, and Bular had to squash the centuries-long impulse to grab it. Soon, but not yet.

Bular snorted. “None that I know of.” He hunkered down to be eye-level with Jim. “But regardless of what Trollmarket will tell you, you don’t have to suffer their contempt, or fight their battles for them. They’ll argue themselves breathless trying to guilt you into a sense of duty to them, and siccing you on their enemies. But never forget that how you use the Amulet, and your own life, is no one’s decision but yours.”

He eyed the Amulet for a moment, and its taunting blue glow, like it was trying to warn Jim. “I’m not going to demand anything of you, but I do advise you to keep the Amulet close. It is still a very powerful sword, and the strongest armor any magic has yet crafted. As long as you’re stuck with it, you can still use it to protect yourself. And you don’t have to do so alone. Trollmarket may demand that you stand on their side, but I’m on yours.”

Uncertainty wound through Jim’s mind and expression, and Bular marveled at how very transparent he was. Impures constantly harbored different thoughts and emotions than the ones they portrayed. But everything Jim felt was reflected right there on his face. It was the most un-fleshling-like behavior Bular had encountered from a human in decades (outside of mortal terror – everything tended to match up neatly in that event), and for a moment, Jim seemed more like a troll whelp than a fleshling.

He took an interesting turn, though. Here, Bular had meant to guide Jim’s thoughts toward his own needs, especially after all that had been demanded of him lately. But the boy thought of his neighbors, his schoolmates, his mother… He tried to picture everyone in town, even the faces he couldn’t put names to. Dread welled up in him at the thought of them disappearing, or of their bodies found mutilated.

“But what about Bular?” Jim asked. “He wants to kill me, and he could hurt other people, too. And there are supposed to be all kinds of other threats out there! I still don’t want to be the Trollhunter, but if I’m really stuck with this, and if I don’t learn what Blinky has to teach me…” Learning how to defend himself and others was all well and good, and not what Jim was really running from.

“Who says Blinky has to be your teacher?” Bular tilted his head, gesturing to the jawbone hilts looming over his shoulders.

Jim glanced up at them uneasily. Draal hadn’t even been armed during their sparring match. “Uh...”

“We wouldn’t start with those,” Bular allowed. “There is a lot more to combat than swordplay, and a lot more you can do before a fight even starts. But through it all, I will listen to you, and try to teach you at your own pace. I will protect you, Jim. And unlike Draal, I will never take my grief out on you.”

Training Jim would have to be very different from the kinds of merciless drills and brutal sparring Bular was used to. But perhaps Stricklander would have some pointers on teaching humans without breaking them on one extreme, or patronizing them on the other. If he was not careful, he could easily scare Jim off, as Trollmarket had.

Jim mulled the offer over, and gave Bular a small smile - every bit as cautious as it was genuine. “I’ll think about it,” he said, and the little spark of optimism had Bular smiling in turn.

They didn’t have him yet. But it was a start, and all the more delicious for the irony of Trollmarket driving him into their hands.

* * *

War was constant chaos, but working with Bular was hell.

Controlling hell might have been a bit above Strickler’s pay grade, but by the Pale Lady, he would manage it somehow.

Krax had finally gotten through his panic attack after having dozens of urgent and conflicting orders blaring through his earpiece during the whole ‘sparring match and/or possible assassination’ disaster, and was reassured that he would not be executed for ‘failing to follow instructions’. And the Janus Order’s special ops fire-teams had been an inch away from following their Dark Prince into Trollmarket before being put back on standby. Their goal would have been either to help Bular achieve his self-imposed, off-the-rails mission if its odds seemed good, or to extract him from Trollmarket and his own bad decisions. And possibly drug him for a month while they handle cover-up and collateral. Maybe even convince Gunmar to ground him.

Draal would have been delighted if he knew the kind of havoc he had single-handedly caused his enemies this night. Barely more than a handful of seconds of video-feed, and Stricklander had felt something dark and sick and painful open like an infected cavity in the pit of his chest. Bular may have been prepared to rush off, but no matter what anyone did, if Draal had dropped Jim – just thrown him away like garbage – there was not enough time to save him. A shaky sigh of relief escaped Stricklander when Draal simply dropped Jim on the ground. All that terror, and he had only been making a point. Trolls…

Bular had not even gone into Trollmarket, just mysteriously uttered “Resume your posts,” into the phone he stole before disconnecting from the network. The tracker still worked, though, and that’s why Strickler nearly tore his hair out when he traced the damn thing to the home of Barbara Lake and her Trollhunter son.

He didn’t bother with the car. Stricklander cast off his human disguise so vehemently it left him dizzy as well as outraged, and launched into the night air with all the fury of a stalkling protecting their nest.

This was some sort of twisted game, wasn’t it? Bular was deliberately sabotaging this mission, and setting up Stricklander to fail because he was a horrific nightmare-monster spawned by a horrific nightmare-monster, and he enjoyed the taste of other people’s psychic pain, and he wanted to get back to killing Trollhunters. Nothing else _explained_ him!

He spotted Bular almost as soon as he spotted the house, and dove down into a hard landing he’d be very sorry for in the morning. At the moment, though, the bone-shuddering ache in his joints barely registered beyond the primal satisfaction of hitting something with great force.

“Where is he?!” Stricklander snarled, stalking toward Bular with flared wings. “If he’s been injured, if I so much as smell a single drop of his blood, I swear I’ll…!”

Bular’s smirk only enhanced the red in Stricklander’s vision. The smug brute sidestepped casually, folding his arms and leaning back against the garage door’s frame. “Calm down, he’s safe.”

Jim Lake, Jr. stood in the garage, looking equal parts surprised and unharmed.

Stricklander choked on his forgotten words, composed himself, and neatly folded his wings closed as he straightened out of attack posture and tried to draw anything but stunned blanks from his mind now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off. “Ah, please forgive my manner,” he said. The words were desperately awkward, and he hated it, but he said them with all the non-threatening dignity he could muster.

Bular leaned toward Jim and mock-whispered “He’s very emotional.”

Before Stricklander could retort, Jim took a careful step closer, glancing between the two. “So, you heard about the sparring match, then? And you thought… Oh, you thought Draal was going to kill me?” He chuckled nervously. “I mean, I did, too, for a hot second.”

“Yes, it caused quite a stir,” Stricklander agreed, thoughts racing as to how he could salvage this and how much was possibly already salvaged. He looked Bular in the eyes, hoped the dreadful imbecile was reading his mind, and thought ‘ _Does he know who_ _you_ _are?’_ as forcefully as he could. _‘_ _Did you just throw away the whole operation?_ _’_ The timing and nature of how they explained Gunmar, Bular, and the collective tribes they led would have to be carefully managed, if it had not been blown already.

Bular gave him a pitying look, and those were always strange from him. They reminded Stricklander of a snake asking a one-legged field mouse if it wanted help scooting to safety. The Dark Prince just smiled quietly to himself.

Jim was frowning. “No offense, but what’s it to either of you? I didn’t think any trolls except Blinky and Aarrrgh cared, or even wanted me around.”

There were all kinds of ways to answer that, and very few ways to possibly show him with the right kind of impact. Stricklander took a steadying breath, acknowledged the massive risk of what he was about to do, and half-way consoled himself with the fact that, of all times to reveal this, now at least had a reasonable chance of reinforcing to Jim that he was still a trustworthy mentor. The longer Stricklander put this off, the more likely he would be discovered in an inopportune way, and the more betrayed Jim would feel at the lie of omission. On the exhale, he resumed his human form. “Never doubt that you are wanted, Young Atlas,” he said gently.

“Mr. Strickler?!” Jim took a step back, eyes wild. “You’re one of them?” He whirled to face Bular. “And who are you? Do I know you? Do all trolls transform? Is that what you meant when you said they didn’t tell me everything?” He froze with dawning horror. “Oh no… Is Draal Steve?!”

Bular doubled over with a surprised laugh. No doubt at whatever mental image Jim had conjured, and the associated horror.

“Ah, no,” Strickler said. “Steve and Draal can’t transform as far as I know, and not all trolls are quite as versatile as I am.” He tried for a comforting smile, which felt somewhat awkward with Bular’s breathless, yet still ominous laughter in the background. “Please, Jim, I realize it’s unsettling, but it allows me to go where trolls normally can’t, to better protect those who may need our help. That’s why I was so distressed when I arrived just now, you see. When I found out you may be in mortal danger, you were beyond my reach. And when I learned you were still alive and where you had gone, I didn’t know if you had gotten here in one piece, or if you had been pursued.”

“So, you knew all this time!” Jim realized. “The other night, when you stopped by, that wasn’t about the play at all!”

Strickler steepled his fingers. “I wanted to offer help discretely, without causing trouble for you. I was not certain if you had told your mother about being the Trollhunter yet.”

“Yet?” Jim stared at him with even greater alarm than when Strickler transformed. “No, there’s no ‘yet’! I can’t tell her, she’s already under so much stress from work, and if - ”

Strickler chanced resting a hand on Jim’s shoulder, relieved when the boy did not pull away. “We don’t have to discuss this now. You’ve had a long and overly-interesting night, and your well-being is our primary concern. Is there anything we can do for you, Jim?”

The boy frowned, letting his panic subside as he thought. “Just… who are you?” he looked between them again. “I didn’t see either of you in Trollmarket.”

Bular managed to compose himself and straighten back up at the same time that Strickler’s marrow turned to ice in queasy panic. Trying to cover it and regain control, Strickler directed a barrage of _‘Don’t tell him yet! Don’t you dare! We’re so close! Don’t scare him off!’_ at the Dark Prince with all his might.

Bular snorted before collapsing to laughter all over again. “S-stop!” he wheezed in the grass.

“…Is he alright?” Jim asked.

“He has a rare condition,” Strickler said, insulted - which of course just made Bular laugh harder. “But one problem at a time.” He patted Jim’s shoulder before stepping back. “As I said, you have had quite a night so far, and I advise you to take what time you need to process. Get some rest. And if you need anything, Troll-related or not, I am only a phone-call away.”

Bular managed to stand up again, grinning, but lucid. “Would tomorrow night be a good time?” he asked Jim.

“Tomorrow night is a school night,” Stricker interjected with a little smile. “Don’t stay up too late. Just because I’ll fight off monsters to defend you doesn’t mean that I’ll go any easier on you in class.”

Bular’s huff was edged with an impatient growl at that, but Strickler caught the dramatic rolling of fiery eyes for Jim’s benefit.

Jim returned the smile to both of them, but it was a little uncertain. “I guess we’ll see.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jim is a troubled one-man bakery, Strickler is awarded a surprise badge of honor, and Bular has the tongue of a serpent.

They walked through the forest on their way from the Lake residence. Stricklander let the events of the night wash over him, analyzing their fortuitous conclusion. If Bular was listening in to his thoughts, he was mercifully quiet. And ominously so. Stricklander himself was well-versed in the art of stealth, but nothing Bular’s size should be able to vanish so easily. It reminded Stricklander of Gunmar, and how like a ghost he seemed, in a dream or out of it.

Bular would not appreciate where that was going, and Stricklander was in a good enough mood to have mercy on him and return his thoughts to the night’s events. “How did we get so lucky?” he marveled.

“Grief,” Bular shrugged. “Remind me never to attune to Draal.”

Ah. But of course, Draal was living Bular’s worst nightmare. He would shoulder the new hole in his life with fighting and drink, and might even graduate to attempted vengeance one of these nights.

And Bular would fight him, even as he understood.

“Get out of my head, Stricklander,” Bular growled.

Stricklander’s brows nearly greeted his hairline. “Oh? What’s this? No sneer of ‘Impure’? I’ll have to mark that on the calendar.”

Bular snorted. “Don’t get sentimental.”

“You started it,” Stricklander smirked.

“Tell anyone, and I’ll eat you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“Ugh, _f_ _ilthy fleshling-_ _speak_ _,_ ” Bular growled in Trollish. “They ruin everything. The Surface, perfectly good threats…”

“Your digestive tract,” Stricklander added helpfully. Bular had always had a sensitive stomach, but within the last century, it was almost like he was developing an allergy to human flesh. He kept eating them anyway, and Stricklander couldn’t tell whether it was for enjoyment or spite.

Bular spat. “They didn’t used to be this weak and polluted. They practically breathe their own filth these days.”

Stricklander hummed. “Dear me, they have grown soft in Gunmar’s absence…”

Bular chuckled, low and ominous. “Right. We just want to keep them sharp. Think that’ll fly with Jim when he learns who I am?”

“I have an idea of what might,” Stricklander said.

Bular stopped in his tracks, staring at him, and Stricklander raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“That is the most foolish plan you’ve ever had.” To someone unfamiliar with Bular’s mannerisms, he would have sounded angry. Stricklander knew him well enough to tell that he hovered somewhere between worried and grudgingly impressed.

It was a strange thing, he could never feel when Bular was reading his mind, but he could see the effects it had on him. The Dark Prince’s brows would furrow just slightly whenever he was turning over and judging someone else’s web of plans and contingencies. As Stricklander watched and thought, Bular began to grimace, and Stricklander knew he won.

Bular glared at him. “I know for a fact you’re not psychic. How do you keep doing that?”

Stricklander smiled. “Please. You’re not so hard to read, either.”

“Don’t tell my father,” Bular warned.

“Only if you admit the Amulet made the perfect choice.”

“It’s a long shot, Stricklander.” Bular resumed walking with him. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

* * *

Just after twilight the next evening, Stricklander found himself, yet again, in the role of damage control.

“We don’t want to smother him,” he insisted, walking backwards in front of Bular, wings flared to try and block him from leaving one of the forest-side sewer drains. “Teenage humans are extremely sensitive to feeling pressured, we don’t want to make the same mistakes Trollmarket did.”

Bular scowled at him, not even slowing his strides. “Pressure gets things done. If they go to him, they risk pushing him further away – I get that, stop screaming it in your head before you give yourself an aneurysm! - But they’d also risk winning him back. You want to give them that chance?”

“We have to take this slow, let him get used to us first.”

Bular growled. “He’s not going to get used to us if we don’t show up.”

“Humans can be just as territorial as Trolls, in their own ways!” Stricklander snarled through the strain of leaning and bracing his palms against Bular’s chest, digging furrows into the dirt with his feet, and flapping his wings to help push back as Bular barely slowed. “There are rules of etiquette that must be observed, especially before a human lets you into their trusted inner circle! If we barge in and intrude and make him feel uncomfortable in his own home, we may not get another chance! I’m not saying we can’t go to him! I’m saying we have to be smart about it!”

Bular growled and rolled his eyes skyward, but at least he stopped. “So call him and do your stupid etiquette ritual! We don’t have all night!”

“Thank you!” Stricklander snapped, giving his wings one last, harsh pump to help dispel his frustration before letting them fold and settle against his back. His cellphone rang before he even got it out, and upon seeing Jim Lake in the Caller ID, he hurriedly switched to human form.

“Hello, Young Atlas,” he said warmly, despite the lingering annoyance still simmering in his veins. He really ought to get a trophy for his acting skills.

Bular snorted skeptically behind him.

“Hi, Mr. Strickler.” Jim’s tone was polite, yet oddly quiet. “I thought about it, and Mom’s working late again tonight. If you and your friend can come over, I think I’d like to talk more?”

How fortuitous. Suspicion hit him like a reflex, but he kept it out of his voice. “We would be delighted. Is there a particular time that would work best for you?”

“I mean, I guess before I have to go to bed. School night and all.”

It wasn’t nervousness. Jim had a very specific chuckle when he was nervous. Stricklander frowned.

“Also I kinda baked a lot of things today? I don’t know what your friend likes, but we’ll find something. And I could put on some coffee to go with? Probably should be decaf at this hour, but…”

Rambling. So, a little bit of nervousness. But it was the safer, awkward kind, not the bracing-for-possible-catastrophe kind.

“You did not have to go to all that trouble, Jim,” Strickler said, keeping a reassuring smile in his tone. “But that’s very thoughtful, and I think we would all appreciate some good food and coffee while we visit. It sounds like a wonderful evening.”

“Yeah.” There was a little smile in Jim’s tone, too. Pleasantly surprised and hopeful, as if a completely stress-free night had not occurred to him. Affection and protective fury tangled in Strickler’s chest.

“Is there anything you would like us to bring?” Strickler asked.

“No, I mean, not unless there’s something else you want, but I might already have it. I went to the store for a few things this morning, so I think we’re good. But thanks. I’ll see you when you get here, then?”

“We’re on our way. Thank you, Jim.”

“Yeah.” There was a pause and the hint of a breath, as if Jim debated saying something else. The call ended with a little beep.

Strickler stared at his phone for a moment. Jim had a lot to process. It was only natural that he not sound quite like himself. In truth, Strickler would have been far more worried if he had. No one suffered a visceral death threat and felt perfectly at ease the next day unless death threats were part of their normal world.

If such was to be Jim’s new normal as the Trollhunter, Stricklander would help him through that, too.

* * *

They found Jim sitting on one of the rocks in his backyard, elbows on his knees, and contemplating the Amulet in his hands. He looked up when he heard Strickler, in familiar human form, gently clear his throat from the other side of the backyard fence. Bular was already vaulting over.

Jim stood up, tucking the Amulet into his pocket and trying not to drag his feet as he approached them. “Come in. Or, you know. I, uh…” He seemed to have trouble meeting anyone’s eyes, and Strickler frowned.

“Jim? Has something happened?” he asked, climbing over the fence with all the fluid grace of an assassin who had specialized in chasing equally dangerous targets across rooftops in his youth.

“No, it’s been a quiet day. I just had some time to think, and I wanted to tell you in person...” Jim shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and finally looked up. “I’m sorry I freaked out when you changed, Mr. Strickler.”

Strickler realized he was staring, the breath knocked from his lungs so thoroughly, even Bular couldn’t laugh at him.

Jim practically tied his fingers in knots as he continued, eyes darting but making an effort to keep contact at least some of the time. “I’m still kinda confused, and I don’t understand how all of this works, but you just wanted to be there for me. Not me as the Trollhunter, but… me. And that’s how you’ve always been, even before I had any idea Trolls existed, and I, I just want to say thank you.”

Strickler could feel himself smiling. “Oh, Jim, I don’t blame you at all! You were just - ”

“No, please don’t excuse it,” Jim interrupted, blue eyes firmly meeting his now. “It’s really important. Whether I stay the Trollhunter or not, I know about this secret side of the world now. And while I’m learning, I’ll encounter some things I won’t expect. It’s like the First Rule: Always be afraid. Because most of those unexpected things can easily ki - ”

He stopped breathing, eyes vacant for a blink, and swallowed. “Could kill me… But it also means I can’t let fear stop me. And I realized last night, after you two left, that rule doesn’t just count for fighting. That last part of it matters especially when it comes to listening, and understanding more. Because not everyone’s out to get me, after all.” He wiped his eyes, trying to pass it off as a casual itch in the dark, but his voice wavered into a whisper. “You helped me remember that, and I think I really needed it.”

Strickler’s vision blurred and his laugh sounded strange to his own ears; a little too soft and shaky to be his. _‘He’s perfect,’_ he thought to Bular. _‘Didn’t I tell you? He’s going to change the world.’_ He held his arms open, an invitation. “Jim, I couldn’t be more proud of you,” he said.

Jim stepped into the hug, burying his face against Strickler’s jacket and clinging to him. Strickler fought back the urge to transform and wrap him in his wings for good measure. No need to test Jim’s tolerance for newness. At least not yet. But his resolve, combined with his innocent good-will, surpassed all of Strickler’s hopes.

“You are going to be alright, dear boy,” he promised. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you are so much stronger than you think. And you mean so much, to more people than you realize.”

Bular watched from several feet away, his face grim in one of the few ways Strickler could not yet read.

Jim gently pulled away, wiping his face. “Sorry, I think I - ” He gestured at Strickler’s shoulder. “Got a little on you.”

“I’m honored,” Strickler smiled, and meant it.

Jim chuckled, and though his eyes were wet, and his nose had gone a little pink, his posture was starting to pick up and resemble himself again. “I figured you probably wouldn’t want to squeeze through the door,” Jim told Bular, gesturing to a card table he had set up by the back door. “Aarrrgh has a hard time of it, and you look about his size, so I brought everything out.”

The card table supported a generous array of cookies, brownies, banana bread, cinnamon rolls, and scones, all surrounding a french press, a little bowl of sugar, and three ceramic mugs – one of which was actually a large kitchen canister, already mostly full of steaming black coffee.

Bular gave the confection buffet a perplexed once-over. In all fairness, this had to be a first for him.

Jim seemed to sense the same. “Or, if you want something else, I could go get it?”

“Gracious, Jim! Did you bake all these today?” Strickler asked loudly. The further they got from the subject of Bular’s dietary preferences, the better.

Bular gave him one of his more pompous ‘That’s what _you_ think’ looks. Strickler glared back at him when Jim wasn’t looking.

“Well, today and last night,” Jim muttered. “Couldn’t sleep. I tried, but I kept seeing - ” His hands started to shake, and he folded his arms tightly, hunching a little as if protecting his ribs. He took a deep breath, eyes on the grass. “I needed a distraction, and anyway I got a nap at around noon, so it’s not that bad.”

Strickler rested a hand on Jim’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “Draal won’t reach you here,” he promised. “There are a lot more where I came from, and we won’t allow it. You are safe here.”

Jim’s eyes widened, but he looked more curious than alarmed. “More of…?”

“Changelings,” Strickler said, steepling his fingers. “We’re not especially well-loved among either world. Humans tend to be alarmed – understandably - when we turn into trolls, and trolls tend to find turning human to be something of a blasphemy. Most trolls aren’t exactly known for their love of humans to begin with, as you may have learned the hard way.”

Jim frowned, and picked up one of the mugs of coffee for himself. “I’d only just met them, I didn’t expect them to love me,” he said, and took a quick sip. “And it makes sense that they’d feel freaked out. This is new to everyone, not just me. And the last Trollhunter left big shoes to fill.”

“Don’t make excuses for them,” Bular growled, picking up the canister of coffee. Now that Strickler noticed, Bular had been observing a Gumm-Gumm formality; one must wait for their host to eat or drink first, in respect for their work and generosity. The canister looked like a shot glass in his claws. “Kanjigar devoted centuries to his duty. They thrived under his protection, as much as hiding and eating garbage can be called thriving - ”

Strickler cleared his throat. The Dark Prince never shied from dangerous territory, but they could not yet afford to go anywhere near the subject of Trollish diets and the accompanying, ugly history. Jim was already suffering nightmares so terrible he barely slept.

Bular gave him the most patronizing wink he had ever seen before returning his attention to Jim. “But what do they do when someone more vulnerable than the weakest of them is chosen? Do they try to repay that duty when it is needed, and support you for the brief handful of decades – at best - that you will walk this Earth? No. Even so little time is too inconvenient for them.”

Jim gave Bular a thoughtful frown. “Blinky and Aarrrgh have been really supportive and trying to make the best of it, and I haven’t had much time to get to know anyone else yet. But the way you talk, you sound like you have something against Trollmarket. And I still haven’t caught your name.”

If this conversation had been a car ride, Strickler had the distinct sense that he would be grabbing the ‘Oh Shit’ handle by now. This was one of the major points where everything could spiral into chaos, and Bular was in the driver’s seat.

“Well, for one, they lied to you,” Bular said. He drained the coffee in a single gulp, seemed to think on the taste, and must have found its earthy bitterness to his liking. He licked his lips and put the canister back. “I have no intentions to kill you, Jim.”

“You?” Jim breathed, eyes wide. “You’re Bular?” But to Strickler’s immense relief, he looked more lost than frightened. “But… Blinky said you killed Kanjigar the Courageous. And called you a ‘Gumm-Gumm’.”

“I fought Kanjigar, but I did not kill him,” Bular corrected. “I told him to yield. He refused, and stepped off the bridge and into the dawn, sacrificing himself to keep the Amulet from me.”

“What do you even want with the Amulet?” Jim asked warily.

Bular was quiet for a moment. “My father is dying,” he said. “My people are dying. Only the Amulet can free them, and I am asking for your help. Trollmarket wants another traditional warrior who can keep their status quo going. But I’ve been waiting and hoping, for centuries, to meet a savior.”

Jim sat down carefully on one of the large rocks, holding his coffee mug in both hands, and looking for all the world like a stunned accident victim sitting on the side of the road. Strickler wanted to tuck a blanket around his shoulders. “What would I have to do?” he asked.

“Live your life,” Bular said. “There’s no battle to be fought. No great enemy to vanquish. But I can still train you if you wish. The human world is dangerous enough, and Trollmarket’s agents won’t take well to the thought of you helping me. But all you’d have to do is open the way for my people to come home, when the time arrives.” He leaned down to be at eye-level with Jim. “You would have a place of honor among us. You, your friends, your mother. You would all be welcome, and fiercely defended if anyone dares to threaten any of you.”

“Even though we’re human?” Jim asked, a hint of skepticism on the edge of his tone.

Bular growled softly. “You may soon come to learn about the bloody history between humans and Trolls. And given all that bad blood, your compassion would be all the more miraculous. You’d be setting an example that no one could ignore. A symbol of peace...

“Daylight is a beautiful sword,” he continued. “But the truth about swords is that they do horrific things to people. You could end the fighting among Trollkind, and the animosity toward humans, all without having to raise it against anyone.”

The smile Jim managed looked so relieved it bordered on pain. “I’d like that,” he said softly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Stories_from_Unicron for inspiration when I was stuck!

Steven Palchuk was at it again. Strickler felt a little vindicated for keeping an eye on Jim throughout the school day, and made his way to intervene.

It looked a little more serious than the usual pushing around. Steve flexed his hands into fists like he was just waiting for the right instant to use them.

Jim was smiling at the taller boy like he was genuinely happy to see him. Granted, Steve might as well have been a kitten compared to the likes of Draal and Bular. Hissing and spitting and fluffing up to try and look big. But a well-aimed punch from him could still hurt.

“-was busy getting his ass whupped by someone else!” Tobias Domzalski tried to back Jim up. “Take a number.”

“Back off, dweeb,” Steve snapped.

“I think I understand, Steve,” Jim said, all relaxed posture and gentle smile. “Pushing kids into lockers doesn’t show people what you think it does, and you never owed anyone a show to begin with. Everyone already knows you’re important.”

It was a clumsy attempt, but it was there, and it sent alarms off in Strickler’s mind. Before Steve could say anything, Strickler was at his side, one hand closed on the boy’s wrist to keep him from striking, if he was still inclined. Steve looked up with a stunned expression, and Strickler wondered if the sudden presence of authority was not the only thing that surprised him.

“I - It’s not what it looks - ” Steve stammered. All the low register he had carefully put into his voice evaporated.

Strickler released Steve’s wrist and clasped his hands behind his back. “Of course it’s not, Mr. Palchuk,” he smiled reassuringly. “I had no idea you had such a passion for acting. It’s a shame tryouts for Romeo and Juliet are over, you would have made a remarkable Tybalt.” He glanced between Steve and Jim. “Such creative energy, developing an anti-bullying skit on top of rehearsals...”

Steve immediately scrambled for the offered escape route. “Y-Yeah! That’s exactly - I have so much passion!”

“That is good. After all, a real altercation would have severe consequences,” Strickler noted with a careful side-eye. “It would be a shame to have to ask your father to attend a conference.” 

Steve’s face paled. “No, no! Please! It was just a - a skit! Like you said!”

Strickler’s smile returned, perhaps a tad icier than before. “You played the part of bully well, but if you will excuse us, I have a few pointers for Jim.” He stepped back and swept a hand in invitation for Jim to walk with him. “Your premise is optimistic and well-intentioned, yet it puts all the pressure on the victim to resolve it...”

Jim nodded and joined him, giving Tobias a wave. “Catch you at the bike-racks later, Tobes.”

Tobias squinted, but nodded as if he had come to a conclusion. “Sure thing, Jimbo.”

* * *

Stepping into Mr. Strickler’s classroom that morning had been at once reassuringly familiar and irrevocably strange. The same feeling hit Jim all over again as he followed Mr. Strickler into his office.

“Jim, I need you to tell me truthfully,” Strickler said, locking the door behind them. The deadly seriousness of his tone clashed with his next words. “Are you a wizard?”

“There are wizards, too?” A confused laugh escaped him before Jim recalled the context. “Oh, of course, Merlin was a wizard... So, they're still around?”

“Can you read minds?” Strickler asked. “When you tried to talk Steve down, were you able to sense his thoughts or emotions?”

Jim shrugged, baffled. “No? I mean, I was trying to think about what he probably wanted, what he thought he got from pushing people around. But it was just a guess. I don’t know what’s going on in his head.” He frowned. “Why? What’s wrong with being a wizard?”

“Gumm-Gumms have a rough history with them,” Strickler said, moving to stand by his desk.

Jim blinked, and then rolled his eyes at himself for being surprised. “Who doesn’t have a rough history?” he asked as he sat on the piano seat.

Strickler chuckled, and after a moment of awkward silence, said “Oh,” with disappointed realization. “You weren’t being rhetorical.”

“Seriously?” Jim’s shoulders slumped. “Everyone hates each other? It’s that bad?”

“Jim,” Strickler said. “You’re only fifteen. And in so short a time, you’ve already met a troll who has decided to take your existence personally, and you’ve only just avoided yet another fight. That should tell you something about the nature of life, shouldn’t it? Imagine living for centuries, or millenia. No matter what we do, even if we only have the best intentions at heart, we’re going to make enemies.”

Jim fiddled with the strap of his bookbag, frowning at the floor. “But it doesn’t have to stay that way,” he argued, trying to sound more certain than he felt. “They wouldn’t call it ‘making peace’ if peace already existed.

“Take Draal and Steve, for example,” Jim continued, confidence growing as he thought out loud. “Neither of them hates me. They don’t even know me. But in their eyes, I’m some kind of obstacle keeping them from something they want. Doesn’t take a mind-reader to figure that out. Draal believes the Amulet rightfully belongs to him, and Steve believes he has to demonstrate that he’s not to be messed with. I think. I might be wrong - I could have missed something. But the point is, they’re lashing out because they feel wronged, and if I can just show them that I understand...”

Strickler shook his head. “You’re presuming that they would care. You still have the Amulet, and you still stood up to a bully in front of everyone.”

Jim nodded, defeat creeping up on him until it receded under an idea. He perked back up, inspired. “This is practice,” he realized. “See? I might not have the answers yet, but if I’m going to try and work for peace between enemies, I have to start small. Well,” he amended, “Not that small, where Draal’s concerned...”

“Please, Jim, stay away from Draal,” Strickler warned.

“Oh, I’ll stay away from fighting him,” Jim promised, hands on his knees. “But I can’t mend things with him if I don’t show up.”

Strickler’s eyes widened and he took a step forward. It was the same look Jim had once seen on a terrified parent pulling his child away from traffic. “Jim, returning to Trollmarket is risky. You know I can’t reach you there.”

“Why not?” Jim asked. “I’ve been thinking about that. Why not just go in troll form?”

“There’s a certain smell that comes from transforming,” Strickler explained. “If I don’t let it wear off first, which could take up to a week, they’ll know. Various 'perfumes' have been used throughout history to disguise it, but they've since been found out and woven into superstitions. Whatever you do, don't roll around in basil or rosemary plants or you'll make trolls suspicious. And possibly hungry.”

Jim frowned and scuffed a shoe against the carpet. “I still don’t get it. So you can turn human. It’s actually not that hard to get used to. What’s the big deal?”

“Rough history, remember? And perhaps I understated a few things in my explanation last night, so allow me to clear that up.” Strickler leaned forward slightly to give his words more weight. “They kill us on sight.”

Jim looked up at him, irritated with the thought of anyone trying to harm his teacher just because of what he could do. He took a deep breath when he realized the track his thoughts had taken. Allowing himself to get riled up would blind him to what he had to remember. “And if I’m going to convince them to stop that,” he said, standing up, “I have to understand how they think.”

“I clearly haven’t given you enough homework,” Strickler frowned.

Jim grinned at him. “We both know it wouldn’t stop me, anyway.”

Strickler sighed, looking so tired Jim almost insisted that he sit down. “You have a good heart, Jim. Bular and I may storm in and ruin your efforts for peace, if you don’t tread carefully.”

“Just give me a fair shot at it.” Jim smiled. “And don’t worry, Mr. Strickler. I’ll bring armor.”

* * *

“Hang on, hang on.” Toby cleared his throat and composed himself, taking off his helmet and stowing it with his bike, hidden in the bushes near the nature trail on the neighborhood-side of the canal. 

Neither boy liked the idea of dragging their bikes up a steep concrete slope in the dark. Sunlight through the leaves dappled everything in moving, nebulous patterns, and Jim tried to iron this spot into his memory so their bikes would be easy to find when it was time to go home. The bikes rested between a forked tree and a bush shaped sort of like a bear’s head. Turkey-tail mushrooms fanned their way down the side of the tree facing the trail, like a fairytale staircase. Jim thought they looked like organic agates, thought of the crystal staircase into Trollmarket, and wondered how many other beautiful sanctuaries had to be kept secret from humanity. To be invited into one seemed a rare and beautiful privilege, and Jim thought he could understand why. Perhaps, if he succeeded in his current mission, he could apply it on an even grander scale, and the world’s hidden peoples wouldn’t have to stay in the dark forever.

Toby put his palms together, straightened up with a deep breath, and yelled “You actually talked with Bular?! Like, _that_ Bular? The guy who rips Trollhunters’ arms off?!”

“Toby, careful!” Jim whispered harshly. “I know it sounds bad, but - ”

“Are you punking me?!” Toby whispered back. “Like, he wants to protect you? How does that even work?!”

“He wants help with something,” Jim said.

“Like letting the Gumm-Gumms out of their timeout pen?” Toby guessed, folding his arms. “Wake up, dude! The way Blinky said it, that sounds like bad news for everyone.”

“Bular said they’re dying!” Jim held his hands out as if he could physically hold his point where Toby would see it. “That sounds like a hell of a lot more than a timeout. And Blinky said they’ve been trying to escape for centuries! Who knows if they even resemble themselves anymore? He… Tobes, Bular made it sound like peace was possible. I’m supposed to protect Trollkind, right? Well, they’re trolls, too. This sounds like a really old rift, and maybe it’s time for it to heal. Maybe that’s why the Amulet chose a human?”

Toby gave him a pained look and sighed. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled that Bular doesn’t want to kill you. Or so he says. But if he’s just using you - think about that for a second - it would put everyone in danger.”

Jim nodded. “That occurred to me... But if he’s telling the truth and I don’t help him, I’d be condemning his people, his father included, to death.” He leaned to get a look at the canal through the trees. “I have to learn what happened, from both sides of the story.”

“Ok, fair, I guess,” Toby allowed uncertainly. “It’s kinda like putting them on trial, huh? Trollmarket vs Gumm-Gumms. We gotta look at the evidence before we pass a sentence.”

“Pretty much?” Jim shrugged uncomfortably, tightening the strap on his bookbag a little.

“Alright, then what are we waiting for?” Toby asked, stepping toward the canal. Jim stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Uh, there’s something else I gotta tell you. But just like with Bular, you gotta keep it secret. For now, at least.”

“Oh, say what?” Toby turned back to him, one hand up, the other over his heart. “A’ight, sworn to secrecy. Lay it on me.”

“Some trolls can disguise themselves as human,” Jim frowned and glanced up at the trees. “Or maybe it’s the other way around? Not sure, but they’re called changelings, and most other trolls seem to hate them, so I wouldn’t bring them up in Trollmarket.”

Toby’s jaw had dropped with the first sentence. “You mean they’re walking among us?!”

Jim winced, his own initial reaction coming back to haunt him. “Well, uh, they don’t seem so different so far, it’s just - ”

“Oh my gosh, that’s incredible! Like superheroes and villains with secret identities!” Toby gasped and his palms slapped his cheeks. “Dude! Anyone we know could be a changeling!”

“Easy,” Jim urged, indulging a paranoid glance toward the canal again. “Look, us simply knowing about them is very dangerous for them. We have to be careful when we talk about them, ok? I don’t know why most trolls seem to hate them, but that’s what I’ve been told.”

Toby’s eyes locked onto Jim’s. “You met one!” he realized in awe. “When? Who is it?”

“Remember the sparring match with Draal?”

“How could I forget?” Toby demanded, half-insulted.

Jim toyed with the strap of his bookbag. “After I made it home, and Bular spoke to me, a changeling caught up with us. He had wings, and he flew. I didn’t even know some trolls could do that. But he landed in the yard and he sounded like he was ready for a fight. Turns out he heard about the match, and thought I was in real danger, so he reached me as soon as he could.”

“Wait,” Toby squinted. “If trolls hate changelings, and he couldn't reach you, he wouldn’t have been in Trollmarket, right?”

Jim nodded, figuring Toby had come to the same conclusion. “Something about transforming gives them away for a while.”

“So, he learned second-hand. Either there are changelings living as trolls, or changeling-friendly trolls living undercover in Trollmarket!” Toby snapped his fingers. “Oh, duh! That’s why they hate changelings - was Bular alright with this guy?”

Jim nodded. “They seem like coworkers who annoy each other, but go back-to-back really well?”

“Changelings work with Gumm-Gumms,” Toby concluded with a clap. “Boom. Solved.”

Jim shrugged. “At least some do, I guess. It makes sense, right? Between trolls who want them dead, and trolls who at least tolerate them, it’s understandable.”

“I guess,” Toby said. “So who is it?”

“Mr. Strickler.”

“I knew it!” Toby pumped a fist in victory. “Oh my gosh, I knew it! Like, I thought it was weird when he dragged you away for a talk after playing dumb and breaking up the so-called skit, but he’s still watching your back! He’s like your guardian-angel-troll-in-disguise-guy! Wings and all! What’s he even look like in his troll form? I bet he’d make Steve faint.” Toby gasped. “Oh my gosh. Jim. What if Steve’s one, too? What if he’s Draal?”

Jim recalled Steve’s panic when Strickler showed up to stop the fight, and couldn’t help a chuckle. He could not picture Draal, Son of Kanjigar, ever cringing before authority. Or cringing at all. “I asked the same question, and Bular fell over laughing at me.”

“Dude, stop making me like him,” Toby complained. “I thought he was supposed to be evil or something.”

“We’ll find out,” Jim said.

* * *

It was a conscious decision not to wear the armor. Jim considered Strickler’s worries, but ultimately decided his new, sacred office was still too much of a shock for everyone. While not hostile, trolls still stared, whispered, and gave him and Toby odd looks as they walked the market streets. Jim didn’t want to rub his Trollhunter status in anyone’s face, and carefully maintained his civilian clothes and a polite smile. No one approached, but every now and then Toby would point out individuals who seemed to be following them.

Neither Blinky nor Aarrgh were in the Hero’s Forge, and Jim felt a little silly for expecting them to be there. Four other trolls that he didn’t recognize were busy sparring all together, charging each other like bulls, tumbling like cats, and making the cavern echo with their collisions. They laughed through it, like it was play, giving occasional, backhanded compliments and teasing critiques of each others’ tactics and styles. Something within Jim longed to stay and watch, to see what he could learn, and to try imagining himself someday earning that level of companionship with such rowdy, resilient people. Thanks to their long lives, they’d had centuries to practice and perfect one of the most ancient and direct forms of competition on the planet, and he felt beyond lucky to watch them in action, especially while having so much fun.

But one of them glanced his way, and Jim felt a reflexive clench in his gut. “C’mon,” he whispered to Toby, hurrying back the way they came, and ignoring the echoes of a few boisterous calls. Beyond the queasy heat rising in his face, Jim wasn’t sure he wanted to know what they were saying. He hoped they were simply continuing their games.

They probably already thought him a coward and a weakling, anyway.

“Hey,” Toby said, one hand on Jim’s back. “You good?”

Jim swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. Thanks, Toby. I’m glad you’re with me.”

Toby gave him a soft punch on the arm. “Me too, Jimbo. Take what time you need.”

“I’m alright,” Jim said.

“That was something, huh?” Toby asked, walking beside him. “Never seen anybody move like that. They just, like, throw themselves into it.”

Jim thought of Blinky’s attempts and Bular’s offer to train him, and the good-natured brawling he’d just witnessed. “If I tried to fight like that, I’d get pancaked,” he said. One half-hearted swing would be like getting hit by a truck. The Daylight armor would be the only thing keeping him alive - _was_ the only thing keeping him alive, during his match with Draal. “I don’t think trollish combat lessons are going to cut it for me.”

“Yeah, well, you still have a _teacher_ ,” Toby lowered his voice and winked dramatically, “who might be able to give you some more 'pointers'.”

Jim wasn’t sure if he felt better about that or not. “The goal is to do this without violence, though...”

“Yeah, but it looks like some kind of social bonding thing, too?” Toby shrugged. “You know, when in Rome. I mean, they’re so much tougher than us, they probably see fighting differently, right? Just think of it like a cultural study. Part of understanding them. You just need the right kind of study partners.”

Jim could feel a smile forming on its own, and a little bit of the same hope he felt while watching the sparring resurfaced.

* * *

Half an hour of searching finally brought them to a pub, or the trollish equivalent. Jim couldn’t read the sign, and was in the midst of resolving to learn the language when he heard a familiar, booming voice from inside, mid-brag.

He had to squash the urge to duck out of the entryway and press his back to the wall. They had already searched so many places, and couldn’t simply pass this one up just because Draal was there.

“Gronk-nuks,” Toby muttered, much to the delight of an observing pair of trolls.

“No one told me human whelps were so adorable,” one of them complained in the background. “I kinda want to keep one.”

Jim took a deep breath through his nose. He was not going to scamper off like a timid, adorable little fleshbag. He was not prey. He and Toby were surrounded by ancient, legendary beings made of living stone, and he was going to stand strong and show them some of that mettle Vendel wanted to see.

Besides, how impressive could they actually find Draal’s so-called victory, when his opponent had been so inexperienced and frail compared to him? With that thought, Jim strode in.

“I was going to kill him, but I just couldn’t make up my mind as to how!” Draal laughed, sitting at the bar, his spiky, blue crystalline back to the larger part of the room, and Jim decided to take advantage of that while it lasted. Let Draal drink and crow all he liked. Jim almost sighed out loud in relief when he saw Blinky and Aarrrgh sitting in a remote booth, glaring daggers at Draal’s back, and perfectly out of his line of sight. He tip-toed closer, one finger over his lips when they saw him and perked up.

“Trollhunter, _feh!_ Troll _hunted_ is more like - ” Draal glanced back at exactly the wrong moment, and did a double-take, his eyes seeming to light up when he grinned.

“Ah, gronk-nuks,” Jim muttered under his breath.

“Indeed!” Draal laughed, slamming his mug on the bar as he stood to his full, towering height. “Didn’t think you’d have big enough ones to show your face here again, fleshbag!”

Jim managed to stop himself from taking a step back. “Don’t let me interrupt,” he said, forcing his shoulders low and back, and keeping his steps measured and casual as he headed for Blinky and Aarrrgh’s booth.

“Are you turning your back on me?” Draal asked in mock surprise, his growl playfully grim.

The fear that he may have just crossed a cultural line gripped Jim, and he looked to Blinky, sweat starting to bead between his shoulder blades. “Is that bad?” he asked. “Did I just declare war or something?”

Blinky hopped out of his seat, and Aarrrgh started scooting out the other way. “No, Master Jim, of course not. It’s a mild insult in some contexts, but nothing so dramatic as inciting outright war. And _welcome back!_ We had thought - ”

“If you respected me as your better, you’d keep your eyes or your chest facing me until I dismiss you,” Draal interrupted, striding closer. “Perhaps our first match failed to teach you proper manners.”

Jim glanced at him, held his ground, and pointedly fixed his eyes on Blinky as he addressed Draal. Surely, Trollish manners had something to say about interrupting, too? The disrespect toward Blinky grated on Jim. “You know? I think I’d learn better through other means.” He turned to face Blinky fully, heart pounding in his ears as he struggled to ignore Draal, and reached for the Amulet in his pocket, just in case. “I’m sorry about how I left last time, Blinky. I haven’t given up. If you have time to spare, I’d really appreciate your guidance.”

The hope and relief in Blinky’s smile almost made up for everything else.

“The farce continues,” Draal snorted in a way that somehow reminded Jim of a human rolling their eyes. “Count yourself lucky I’m morbidly curious. You've already proven yourself so feeble, you’ll most likely die in a humiliating little accident. Just trip and fall and land wrong, and that’s all your legacy will be. I have a few bets going - ”

“I was talking to Blinky, not you,” Jim snapped, an idea forming behind the haze of defensive fury. He doubted expressing compassion could reach Draal at this point, but perhaps illuminating Draal's own actions with barbed honesty would get through to him. There was something righteous and satisfying in the thought. “Go back to bragging about your pathetic tantrum. Because you know what, Draal?” He half-turned toward him, Amulet clenched in one fist, and sweat rolling down his back. “I may not know a lot about your culture yet, but in mine, threatening and tormenting someone who can barely fight back only shows how far you’re willing to degrade yourself.” He scowled up at him, blood running hot, hands shaking no matter how hard he clenched them to keep them still. He might not have known how to fight with a sword, but he could still wield words well enough, and struck as hard as he could. “From the first moment we met, you have failed to impress me.”

Rumbling and murmurs filtered in through the background, other trollish patrons watching with mixed alarm, confusion, and amusement.

“ _Oh, snap!_ ” Toby hollered. Everyone reflexively jumped at the obnoxious, rapid blaring of an airhorn he had pulled out of his backpack.

Draal yelled something in his native tongue, knocked the airhorn out of Toby’s hand, and crushed the offending can under his foot with a loud pop, grinding it for good measure. “Never do that again,” he warned Toby, eyeing him as if bracing for whatever other strange phenomenon the boy might unleash. 

It made for a strange, brief snapshot in Jim’s mind. Draal didn’t look quite as threatening when wrong-footed - his large, vibrant eyes now seemed more expressive than predatory - and Jim could feel his mental picture of the troll sharpening into clearer focus. Draal was clearly not used to being taken off guard, and whenever he was, he dealt with it head-on, backed up with tons of force. That method must have worked for him in the vast majority of challenges he surely had to face in his life. Apparently it worked so well for him, it might not have even occurred to him to seek other methods. And was that really his fault, after all?

Toby waved his hands in a what’re-you-gonna-do-about-it gesture, unrepentant. The very picture of insolence in braces and a sweater vest. “Whatever, dude, you just got _served!_ ”

Blinky stared, jaw dropped, and Aarrrgh’s rumbling laughter carried a note of nervous disbelief.

Jim wasn’t even certain what they had found more alarming, but that wasn’t his priority now. He stepped in front of Toby to shield him, white-knuckling the Amulet and reciting the incantation in his head. The very act of wearing the armor in Draal’s presence could escalate things to the tipping-point, so he didn't want to don it too soon. But if a fight started anyhow, he hoped he could recite it fast enough. 

Jim’s anger and annoyance was receding, chased away by unexpected noise, the brief reprieve from Draal’s direct ire, and the glimmer of a potentially useful insight that smoothed the situation’s jagged edges into something he felt he could make better sense of. And in the stark, unforgiving clarity that followed, Jim wondered if telling Draal off had been a terrible mistake. “Let’s go, please,” he said, keeping his voice steady as he glanced at Blinky and Aarrrgh. “I think we’re done here.”

Draal’s answering growl was so deep, Jim could feel his own skeleton tremble from the force of it. His eyes didn’t glow like Bular’s, but their colors were so similar, and the rage behind them so palpable, Jim had to wonder if they could glow, too, after all. “You question my honor?” Draal asked, baring teeth and sharp tusks.

Jim glared back, indignant anger rising up to answer one of the most foolish questions he thought he’d ever heard. “I’ve yet to see you demonstrate it.”

“Very well, fleshbag. I shall.” Something about his quiet tone was worse than if he had shouted. “You have a month before our re-match.”

“No,” Jim said. “I don’t have time to indulge your tantrums. Grow up, Draal.”

Blinky cleared his throat anxiously. “Master Jim, this is far more than a - ”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Blinky, I’ll use small words so the fleshbag understands.” Draal sneered down at Jim. “You have challenged my honor. Either back it up with force, or lose what little you have of your own, and never sully Trollmarket with your presence again.” He turned back to the bar. “I was being generous, but you just had to give one last insult, didn’t you? You now have a week.”

Blinky leaned closer to Jim. "That... was closer to declaring war," he said helpfully.

“More shrieking demon-box,” Aarrrgh requested, giving Toby a hopeful look.


	6. Chapter 6

“Okay, un-glue your palm from your face already, Jimbo, you’re gonna trip on the steps,” Toby advised as they all walked through a remote section of the caverns. Glowing crystals illuminated the winding street in intervals. Sections rose and fell and branched in many paths ahead, like roots in the earth.

“I catch you,” Aarrrgh assured.

“I lost my temper,” Jim muttered, minding his footing. “I was going to fix things, and I should’ve just shut up, and now Draal’s going to punt me off a cliff next week.”

“That was lost temper?” Aarrrgh asked, leaning down to get a better, if bewildered look.

“Doubtful, Master Jim,” Blinky gave him consoling pats on the back and shoulder with both of his right hands. “The visible demise of one’s opponent is a prominent feature of honor duels. If you fall off the cliffs and out of sight from the crowd, Draal’s victory could technically be called into question, especially if no remains can be recovered.”

Jim stopped and stared. “Blinky?” he asked, earnestly clasping one of Blinky’s hands in both of his own. “I mean this in the kindest way, as a friend. Please learn funnier jokes as soon as possible.”

“All is not lost,” Blinky consoled. “You still have options. Honor duels are supposed to be fought to the death, but a victor is rarely ever challenged again.”

“I thought he wanted a re-match! As in just sparring, not death! And even if I could kill Draal, I wouldn’t! Especially not with his own father’s sword!” Jim took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down before continuing. “Why is everything about death? Rule Number Two, honor duels, ch- uh - You guys live for centuries!”

_Imagine living for centuries._

Jim’s jaw ached, and he consciously unclenched his teeth with a sigh. “I don’t understand.” He could already feel those words becoming a despairing mantra. Another kind of battle he could not afford to lose.

Blinky nodded reasonably. “That’s to be expected. You weren’t raised among trolls, after all, but in time you can learn our ways.”

“Yeah, so long as that time is less than a week,” Toby piped up, indignant. “You mentioned options. What else you got?”

“Well, if you manage to wound Draal enough to stop him, you could spare his life and destroy his honor instead,” Blinky suggested. “It may provoke mixed reactions from the crowd. Draal has been with us a long time - centuries, as you pointed out - and is respected and well-liked. His death would be devastating for many. However there is a kind of sanctity to the honor duel, and traditionalists argue that the loss of honor can be even more tragic - after all, honor is the very measure of one’s life. That, and sparing the loser allows an almost sacred trial meant only for matters of consequence to be used as a glorified stage for petty squabbles.”

“Some trolls challenge when drunk,” Aarrrgh explained. “Then at duel, say ‘No. You’re not bad guy. I’m not mad anymore. Won’t kill you.’”

“The frequency of honor duels increased significantly after the death requirement was lifted,” Blinky noted. “And to temper that, it was decreed that banishment and loss of honor be the punishment for a spared loser.”

“I don’t want him dead, but I don’t want him banished, either,” Jim insisted. “This is his home. Where would he go?”

“It is customary for the defeated to take refuge in the victor’s domicile,” Blinky said. “Not all do, of course, especially if tempers between them remain high. But to guard the victor’s home is considered part of a graceful acknowledgement of one’s defeat. There is some honor in it, and should you defeat him, Draal might possibly opt for that path, if you will have him.

“And lastly,” Blinky continued, “you may simply skip out on the duel. You’d lose all honor and be banished, of course. But you would live, at least until Bular finds you.”

“That does sound like the best way to ensure no one dies… So soon, anyway,” Jim allowed cautiously. He was already an outsider here, so opting for banishment would result in the fewest complications, and no doubt keep Strickler and Bular happy. “But I can’t just give up on ever returning here. There’s still so much I have to learn.” Jim frowned as he thought. “I have to find some way to make amends with Draal before the duel.”

“Challenging a troll’s honor is never to be taken lightly,” Blinky warned. “And to take it back before fighting it out would result in immediate loss of honor and - ”

“And banishment,” Jim sighed. “Got it.” He took a deep breath. “Alright, I’ve got a week to figure something out.”

“ _We_ do, Jim,” Toby assured him with a quick wink. “ _All_ of us.” 

“Ah, here we are,” Blinky took a turn down a side-passage, and everyone followed him into a cave lined with treasures. “Welcome to my library.”

Blinky’s library reminded Jim of a cross between a museum and an antiques shop, packed with curiosities that ignited his imagination before he’d even had a chance to ask about them. “Okay, fair warning,” he muttered, turning as he tried to take it all in at once. “If I’m banished, I might still try to sneak back here.”

Blinky chuckled appreciatively. “While flattering, that would be highly dishonorable.”

“Well, not like I would have any honor to lose, right?” Jim shrugged.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Blinky said, half-distracted as he selected an assortment of tomes from various shelves. “While difficult, it’s not impossible for you to beat Draal. If you choose to face him, there is still hope, and time to prepare.” He set the selected stack of tomes on a broad stone table, and gestured for Jim and Toby to take their seats. “We can start tonight with basic history and culture.”

“Shouldn’t we focus on combat, though? You know, so Jim might live?” Toby asked, leaning an arm on the back of his chair, but not sitting yet.

“Ah, but before one learns to fight, one must understand _why_ one fights,” Blinky insisted, flipping through and focusing on two different tomes at once. “And learning trollish social skills may prevent further mishaps in the meantime.”

Jim sighed and slumped into his seat, folding his arms on the table. “That’s fair,” he muttered. Aarrrgh rumbled and gave him a surprisingly gentle, consoling pat on the back.

“Besides,” Blinky continued, frowning as he traced two different passages, “while Draal presents a significant threat, he is not the most dire challenge you will have to face. There is a chance he may opt to spare you. Being the first Trollhunter to be banished from a Trollmarket would be devastating for your legacy, after all. And even if he doesn’t spare you - for instance, if he worries the Amulet could fall into Bular’s hands in the event that you are banished - he will want to make your death mercifully quick. Bular the Brutal, on the other hand, was never known for mercy of any kind, and though he may not yet realize the new Trollhunter is human, you are very lucky he hasn’t managed to track you down. It would be a mistake to expect that luck to last.”

“Yeah, no, that still sounds like a point in favor of learning combat, or at least escape tactics,” Toby criticized. He sat down and leaned forward. “But if you want to tell us more about Bular first, bring it on.”

Blinky nodded. “Our war with the Gumm-Gumms began long ago, with Orlagk the Oppressor, a fearsome tyrant who wielded the cursed blade Decimaar, and used its dark magics to enslave trolls to his will.”

“Hang on,” Jim said, holding up a hand. “You mentioned on our first night here that Bular’s father was trying to escape the Darklands. Is this Orlagk the same guy?”

“Oh, not at all!” Blinky waved the idea away as if it were absurd. “Bular’s father is altogether far worse, with numerous unsavory titles. He is known as Gunmar the Black, or the Vicious, or the Immortal, or the Skullcrusher, or the Hungry One, or the Untangler of Entrails, or - ”

“Sheesh!” Toby squeaked, gripping the edge of the table. “He already sounds like a piece of work!”

“It gets worse,” Blinky promised. “While infamous for his battle prowess and insatiable appetite, Gunmar has also been known to see into the hearts and minds of others, and bend their will to his own, even without Decimaar, which he won from Orlagk in a lengthy duel that also incidentally earned him the title of Skullcrusher. Though there is some possibility that he merely claimed credit for Decimaar’s powers. Some claim Gunmar can even enter dreams, and rend the mind just as easily as he rends stone and flesh alike. Some speculate that his son, Bular, can do these things as well, though if true, he’s either more limited or more reserved with his power. Some speculate that neither father nor son are really trolls at all.”

_He has a rare condition._

And it was a lot scarier than simply turning human. It now felt surreal to recall that Jim had spoken with Bular. Offered him coffee. Even felt a modicum of safety in his presence, once he got used to the volcanic eyes and giant swords. And it explained, in the worst way, why it felt so surprisingly easy to talk and listen to him. 

Jim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This was an account from Bular’s enemies, he reminded himself. Strickler’s, too. There could be truth to these claims, or they could be propaganda. Blinky had already been proven wrong about Bular once before. “That sounds like a lot of speculation,” he pointed out.

“And I pray you never have to learn first-hand how well-founded it is,” Blinky insisted. “Orlagk’s legacy is fraught with devastation, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the bonfire-scope of the atrocities in Gunmar’s wake. Or in his yet-unfulfilled ambitions. And to better comprehend Gunmar the Black, we must address how he earned that same title.” He flipped through one of the tomes, turned it around to face the boys, and pointed to the Trollish texts and accompanying illustrations. “Before our wars with the Gumm-Gumms, trolls and humans warred for dominion of the Surface Lands. As the death rate climbed on both sides, our first Heartstone on the Surface rotted from within. And from that corruption, Gunmar was born.”

“I take it that’s not how it usually works for trolls?” Jim asked.

Blinky shrugged and waved one hand in a so-so gesture. “There are various methods of procreation across various groups, and the involvement of Heartstones in various fashions is fairly common. But something terrible happened to that one, and whether the corruption manifested itself in troll form, or whether it twisted the body and soul of an innocent, unborn troll, it resulted in a being so monstrous, he redefined the word.”

The story had that mythic feel that only ancient things did. Jim had to wonder how much embellishment went into it over time, or if Gunmar himself had spun the tale as part of an intimidation tactic, frightening his enemies with the idea of a supernatural origin. He wondered what Bular would say about it, or Gunmar himself if they got a chance to speak. But the more Jim listened, the more he dreaded the idea of making such contact.

“Okay, but if they really have psychic powers, how would I even know when they’re using them?” Jim asked. “They could just trick me into forgetting they have them, right? And even if I realize what they’re doing, how do I fight it?”

“All appropriate questions,” Blinky praised. “Such have been debated for many centuries, with few answers and many theories. But as far as practical applications go, Bular is the only one who remains something of a viable test subject. You see, each Trollhunter who has fought Bular has noticed the same uncanny ability to predict their moves and tactics, and to avoid detection, often in preparation for an ambush - which he likes to do even in mid-battle, taking advantage of momentary distractions. If you find yourself facing him, Master Jim, you must not take your eyes off him for a moment, and be ready to change your plans swiftly. He is exceedingly difficult to fool, so your best chance is to meet him at his level, and fight as he does. With speed, unpredictability, and whatever distractions you can take advantage of.”

“So he’s a warrior, _and_ a psychic, _and a ninja?!_ ” Toby held out his hands as if expecting to receive either the punchline or the truth. Jim didn’t have to be psychic to understand the ‘I gotta meet him!’ look Toby shot him. “That’s like the most terrifying awesome sauce!”

Blinky grimaced a little. “Perhaps less awesome and more terrifying if you take the Gumm-Gumm diet of human flesh into account,” he suggested.

Aarrrgh rumbled uncomfortably.

Dread coiled through Jim, and he kept perfectly still. Given the story of Gunmar’s birth, animosity toward humans would not exactly be a surprise. It was hard in some ways, and horrifically easy in others, to picture Bular eating someone. Despite his jacket, Jim felt goosebumps rising along his arms. “Even today, humanity still has all these old stories about trolls eating people,” he said carefully. Hopefully that was just part of an ugly past that Bular had since given up?

“Largely Gunmar’s influence,” Blinky said. “And that of the war that came before him - or rather spawned him - which I believe took place near the end of what you call the Pleistocene Epoch? Few accounts remain of that time, or anything that came before, understand. It was a truly staggering span of time ago, even by Trollish standards. Much history was lost on both sides.”

“Wait, so Gunmar’s from the Ice Age?” Toby asked. “Just clarifying.”

“Technically that Ice Age isn’t quite over yet, but yes,” Blinky confirmed. “That’s the closest range our accounts have been able to nail down, and is one of the reasons for his ‘Immortal’ title. Aside from being exceedingly difficult to wound, Gunmar is ancient far beyond the scope of a normal troll’s lifespan. But there is a long stretch of time between his speculated birth date and his rise to power through Orlagk’s ranks. The few accounts that remain describe an unhinged, yet strangely charismatic wanderer, and his earliest followers seemed to regard him as some manner of holy madman. He was rumored to have even drawn in a few human sun cults. Before he ritually devoured them, of course. Or perhaps he simply hunted them down? There is some debate between those theories.”

“So, like a cannibal-Rasputin?” Toby asked.

Blinky blinked all six eyes as he parsed that. “No. No, Gunmar and Rasputin had different issues entirely. But Gunmar never did shy away from cannibalism. Humans, trolls, aurochs, squirrels, whatever. One account even describes him skeptically munching tundra moss - or perhaps trying to make a brew from it. He was constantly plagued by desperate hunger, but nothing could satisfy him. Not even the Heartstones he drained and sometimes literally consumed.”

Blinky leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Legend even has it that Bular was conceived when Gunmar swallowed a chunk of living Heartstone. Gunmar didn’t even realize it until he detected his son’s first sensations of life from within, right in the midst of battle. He gorged himself on every creature he slew, after, and Bular has not lost his progenitor’s taste for combat since.”

Jim blinked and frowned as he tried to figure out how he was supposed to react. It had the same grim poetry as a lot of Greek mythology. What was that story supposed to say to a troll? Gunmar had skipped a crucial day of class in trollish sex-education? Gunmar had terrifying (possibly even maternal) instincts? Bular used to be a baby? Gunmar had been able to communicate psychically with his own unborn infant? Jim wasn’t even sure how to ask any of these questions, or what difference the answers might make.

“...And ultimately, Gunmar and his followers became trapped in these ‘Darklands’ you mentioned?” Jim asked, deciding to shove the rest aside for now. “How?”

“Deya the Deliverer,” Blinky said with reverence, “one of our greatest Trollhunters, used the sacred Amulet to capture and banish Gunmar and his forces at the Battle of Killahead Bridge - the portal to the Darklands, or at least the largest of such portals. Needless to say, Gunmar did not see _that_ plan coming! Or if he did, he caught it too late to do anything about it. The Bridge was torn down after, and its pieces scattered across the world, so that he may never return, but even that doesn’t stop him from seeking ways out.”

Jim felt like he had ice in his guts. The Amulet, and himself by extension, was Gunmar’s ticket back into the world. And if Gunmar still resembled his old, human-eating self, he could inflict havoc the likes of which humanity couldn’t even remember.

Bular wanted him to do this.

Bular knew where he lived.

And if he was at all psychic, Bular would know that Jim knew a less-than-encouraging part of Gunmar’s reputation now.

If Blinky’s accounts held any merit, Trollmarket was now the safest place to stay, and Jim had put that safety in jeopardy by challenging Draal. He held his head in his hands, elbows braced on the table, wishing he could just feel and think of nothing for a moment of clarity from the nauseating swirl of doubts and fears.

If setting Gunmar free was as bad an idea as it sounded, Jim had no choice but to duel Draal for the privilege of staying in Trollmarket. And he had to find some way within Trollmarket’s impossible rules to let Draal stay and live, too. And if Jim were to stay, he’d have to convince his Mom to move down here, too, where she would be safer.

But some pieces still didn’t seem to fit. Strickler worked with Bular, after all, and if Gumm-Gumms hated humanity, wasn't it strange for a Gumm-Gumm to work with people who were essentially part human? And perhaps Bular was not just speaking to Jim’s secret hopes - maybe even he, ancient as he was, had genuinely grown tired of the violence after so many centuries? And what if the Darklands had changed Gunmar in some way? Assuming there were no humans there, perhaps he had no choice but to kick the habit of eating them? And humanity had changed in so many ways since he last saw them, surely that had to count for something? And Jim still had yet to hear both sides.

“Master Jim?” 

Jim got the sense that Blinky was repeating himself, but he wasn’t sure by how many times.

“Yeah, sorry,” Jim made an effort to wipe the strain from his eyes. “I, uh… You’ve given me a lot to think about, Blinky. Thank you… Sorry to cut the lesson short, but it’s been a long day, and I should head home. I have some other studying to do, and I want to make sure Mom is okay.”

Blinky looked uncertain, but nodded. “Of course, Master Jim. We’ll resume our studies again soon.”

* * *

Proper, dignified, secret headquarters did not skimp on their architecture, and eschewed drywall altogether. This made the walls all the more satisfying to punch and ram with his horns when Bular lost his temper.

The strange new, resilient polymer used for the wall panels spiderwebbed in pleasing cracks. And hearing changelings shout in alarm when he made the whole labyrinth shake with impacts was funny enough to eventually cool Bular’s wrath to a high, tense simmer. He leaned against one of the walls he had all but destroyed, stone and earth trickling in among the shattered remains of twisted metal and high tech materials. The contrast made him feel ancient, which was just as good as kindling for his anger right now. The whole place reminded him of a pampered rabbit warren, which didn’t help, either. He gave the wall another solid, hall-rattling punch.

“Pale Lady’s sake, you twit! _Hush!_ I can’t bloody hear what they’re saying!” Stricklander shouted over his shoulder, one hand over his microphone as he hovered in front of a wall of screens, each one showing an operative’s hidden-camera view of Trollmarket and the reluctant Trollhunter walking with his friends and guardians at various distances. Stricklander spent the majority of his time directing operatives to subtly move to advantageous positions, carefully monitoring and guarding Jim’s progress through the market as if it were filled with potential assassins. On several occasions, a bystanding troll innocently reached into a pocket or vest, or stared at Jim a moment too long. Stricklander would bare his teeth and tense as if he intended to leap through the screens and carry the oblivious offender off into a grisly death-climb to make it rain blood and entrails.

Few things aside from violence cooled Bular’s temper, but Stricklander losing his own temper was one of them. They both knew he could kill Stricklander in a variety of creative ways, so there was something oddly endearing about the changeling freely getting snappish. Stricklander knew he had nothing to worry about.

It was even something of a game among low-ranking Gumm-Gumms, long ago, to play dumb and guileless around acquaintances, and to tease and annoy them. They won the game if someone relaxed enough to openly insult them or casually push back without fear of repercussions. It was something of an ice-breaker. Whether those repercussions came or not depended on the insult and the mood or self-discipline of the Gumm-Gumm in question. But a big part of the game involved letting go of one’s own ego, and letting insults slide without giving away just how dangerous one truly was. A proper Gumm-Gumm knew when to apply force, to save their fighting spirit for their warlord’s direction, and their friends would know when they needed to take them seriously.

Bular wondered if such games even survived the Darklands, or if they would work with a fleshling. Jim would probably never get that traumatized-rabbit look out of his eyes now. What Jim was thinking, Bular could only guess, and he hated that uncertainty. _Insight_ did not work through digital mediums, and watching and listening through them made Bular feel hobbled. Submerged. Claustrophobically stuck, without another mind’s echoes.

If what Jim learned at Blinky’s table moved him too far beyond their reach, Bular might have to kill the boy. And if he had to kill Jim, he would probably have to kill Stricklander, too.

“Oh, come now, don’t mope,” Stricklander chided, glancing back at him. “I can't stand that sad-bulldog face you get. It's unbecoming.”

Bular scowled, which in his defense, was only a touch different from his previous expression. “I’m not moping,” he bit out, stalking closer. “I can’t stop Jim from going to Trollmarket during the day. But you have vans.”

Stricklander aimed a long-suffering sigh at the ceiling. “For the last time, we’re not kidnapping him every time he approaches the canal.”

“No, of course not. That would make too much sense,” Bular snarled, barely checking the impulse to grab Stricklander by the neck. It had been about half a century since he had last done that, and he was trying to think of it like breaking his record. Bular hated being ignored or having his concerns dismissed, but he could feel that Stricklander was listening as best he could, the changeling’s keen attention split between two high priorities. It was a hard thing to begrudge, but Stricklander was either missing the point, or was too focused on other things to consciously think of it right now. And Bular’s own anger had a tendency to muffle the deeper layers of _Insight,_ which tended to make him angrier. “Better to let him keep going back?” he snapped. “To listen to our enemies, let them poison him against us, and trick him into playing their stupid honor games?”

“We haven’t lost him,” Stricklander said, taking a few nerve-wracking (for him) seconds away from watching Jim to look Bular in the eyes. “He’s my student, and I always make damn sure that my students know there is always more than one side to history. We can make use of this. This will not be for nothing.”

“Pray that you’re right,” Bular growled. “Or I’ll throw on a tarp, rip out the driver’s seat, and drive the van, myself.”

Bular couldn’t help smiling when Stricklander imagined a list of property damage so staggering it left them both a little dizzy.


	7. Chapter 7

The sun was setting by the time Jim and Toby waved goodbye to Blinky and Aarrrgh on the crystal stairs, stepped through the horngazel portal, and stood once again under the canal bridge. The twilight air smelled of car exhaust, sun-warmed concrete, and vegetation, and breathing it in felt like reintegrating with the world of the familiar. Some part of Jim’s mind could pretend, for a little bit, that he had merely imagined an evening of news as difficult as it was fantastical.

Jim nodded to Toby and the boys ascended the sloped side of the canal. The forked tree and the bear-head bush were a little harder to identify in the dying light, but they found their bikes easily enough.

“So, that’s a bunch of problems,” Toby muttered, brushing leaves off his handlebars. “First Draal, and I’m not one to say I-told-you-so, but - ”

“I wouldn’t say it just yet,” a familiar, reassuring voice spoke behind them. Mr. Strickler stepped out from between a couple trees, calm and dignified as ever, but also strangely haggard.

Jim straightened up with his bike and a sympathetic frown. “You look like you’ve had a long evening,” he said.

Strickler smiled ruefully. “We all have.”

“Mr. Strickler,” Toby greeted coolly, like one secret agent to another.

“Mr. Domzalski,” Strickler returned with a nod. “Jim shared my identity with you in confidence. I trust you shall keep it?”

“Look, I joke about wanting to die, but they’re just jokes,” Toby swore.

“Do relax, won’t you?” Strickler advised. “Bular and I are here to protect you both, not kill you.”

Toby laughed. “You know, it was weird hearing that from Jim, too.”

“Where is Bular?” Jim asked, scanning the foliage with quick glances and recalling Blinky’s warnings about the Gumm-Gumm’s penchant for stealth.

“Not far,” Strickler said with an apologetic shrug. “He’s a bit moody at the moment and is keeping his distance while he calms down, but he still wishes to make sure you get home safely. Especially given recent events.”

Jim frowned, putting the pieces together. “Your inside-agents saw the challenge. And bugged Blinky’s library,” he said. “You heard what we heard, didn’t you?”

Strickler stepped toward the walking trail and gestured for the boys to join him. “There is more truth to what Blinky divulged than we would like to admit,” he confessed. “But he does not know the whole truth, and some of the pieces he obtained are twisted.”

“So Bular really is a psychic ninja cannibal?” Toby asked as he and Jim walked their bikes alongside their teacher.

“Technically not much of a cannibal,” Strickler said. “And not at all a ninja, he wouldn’t have the patience.”

As a troll, ‘technically not a cannibal’ still possibly left human flesh on the menu. And if Gunmar had a taste for it, Bular almost certainly did, too. At least in the past, if not now. If the whole truth was a puzzle, it had some ugly pieces, and Jim would have to brace himself to solve it, one piece at a time. “But he really has psychic powers?” Jim asked. “Not telling us doesn’t exactly encourage trust...”

Strickler’s face was solemn as he watched the path ahead. “It can be difficult to confess the things that set you apart from others.” The weight in his words told Jim his teacher was speaking from long, painful experience.

“That’s moving,” Jim granted, trying to remain impartial and on guard. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”

Strickler spared him a small, proud smile. “Bular and his father cannot control other minds. And while Gunmar can impart his own thoughts and experiences to others, Bular can only do so under extreme duress, and at great risk to himself. Outside of one particular scenario, but we’ll get to that later. As far as ‘reading minds’ goes, they do not so much sense others’ thoughts as _experience_ them. Their abilities grant them a serious edge, but come with a price.”

“They have some kinda kryptonite?” Toby asked.

“The very nature of their power is more of a double-edged sword,” Strickler explained. “Bular was deeply troubled about his identity in his youth, believing himself to be simultaneously everyone he had ever met. His moods and goals would take on that of whomever kept him company, like he was an extension of them. He was energetic and gregarious as a whelp, attentive to the comforts and hurts of complete strangers - because they _weren't_ strangers to him, and preferred aimless play over games with clear goals because if even one whelp lost, he did. While he seemed to realize that he only had control over one body, he naturally thought in terms of whatever group he was surrounded by at any given time, even when that group changed. It was all one constantly-shifting entity to him. Before he even learned to speak, nearby arguments would distress him like nothing else, because he felt both perspectives as his own, and reconciliation was not always possible.”

“Damn,” Toby marveled. “For a kid to go through that, on top of everything else? That _sucks._ ”

“It sucked for Gunmar, too,” Strickler said, that wry smile returning. “He had to demonstrate a great deal more patience and restraint than usual when resolving disputes, or Bular would think he was being punished, too. And teaching his young son to hunt was an absolute nightmare. Bular wouldn’t even go near his father for weeks after Gunmar first showed him how to stalk and kill an aurochs. As a result of that trauma, Gunmar became the first person Bular learned to recognize as separate from himself.”

Jim frowned at that. “Even a psychic can’t always predict how someone will react, huh?”

“Oh, no, Gunmar knew what he was doing,” Strickler corrected. “It hurt for everyone, himself included, but it taught several important lessons all at once. He likes efficiency, you see, and in his own youth, it had taken him ages to eventually learn how to distinguish between himself and others, and to comprehend that what was natural for him looked like madness and witchery to everyone else. He didn’t want his son to have to muddle through that same, torturous journey. Gunmar is both cunning and brutal, that is true, but he’s not unkind. It’s just that his version of kindness is frequently like ripping the nail off.”

Toby winced and hissed through his teeth. “Ouch! Don’t you mean band-aid?”

“No,” Strickler said. Horribly, he left it at that. “Even with Gunmar’s help, Bular developed and contended with a number of maladaptive behaviors before he learned how to function as an individual. But even now, his own power still makes him all the more vulnerable to certain reactions.”

“What, like social rejection gives him an existential crisis?” Toby asked doubtfully. “Every middle school kid could raise a toast to that one. You know, if they could drink.”

“Bular has fought in countless battles against trolls, humans, and various other beings who tried their hardest to kill him. He had to learn how to shrug their own hatred of him off.” Strickler tilted his head, considering. “However, when he feels responsible for someone, he’s not often sure how to handle it when they don’t trust him. It’s not a feeling he enjoys, or ever got used to. He was raised to be a champion, an icon, and despises his own failures. And even an empath cannot reach those who have already decided that he’s their enemy.”

Jim caught a few glimpses of fireflies among the foliage on both sides of the path, their lights leaving little after-trails in his vision. But no red glow, no heavy steps. Knowing that someone else might be able to feel his own thoughts and judgments as they happened was new and unsettling. But if he was going to be spending any amount of time around Bular, whatever may come of it, it was something he would have to get used to. Besides, talking about Bular as if he wasn’t there didn’t feel right, and wouldn’t solve anything. And Strickler’s talent for explaining history as if he had been there (and perhaps he had) brought the image of a confused and overwhelmed young troll to life in Jim’s mind.

So Jim called to the ancient entity in the dark. “Come walk with us.”

A low growl reverberated through the darkness, and Jim spared one hand from his bike to steady Toby’s shoulder when Toby froze. 

“Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, that’s him isn’t it?” Toby gasped, staring.

“Did you have to spin it like that, Stricklander?” Bular grumbled from between a couple of trees ahead. The ember-glow of his eyes illuminated the harsh angles and planes of his face, tusks, and horns. “You’re gonna make me puke.”

“What spin?” Strickler rolled his eyes. “I hardly made you out to be a shrinking violet, so don’t whine like one.”

“Snap,” Toby whispered in awe.

Bular snorted irritably and wound through the trees beside them as they continued walking. “Since we’re picking my brain, I’ll speak for myself: Draal has figured out a way to make killing you legal in Trollmarket, Jim. And you know which option I want you to take.”

“I know,” Jim said. “But I can’t just run away and give up on Trollmarket, especially on account of my own mistakes.”

“Being a newcomer, and not knowing all the rules yet, is not a mistake!” Bular snarled, fixing his hellfire eyes on Jim. “Whether Draal knows better, or whether he was too drunk to be ashamed of the impulse, he took advantage of your ignorance. And all under the guise of honor!” Bular spat. “It’s all a spectacle to them. They’ve forgotten what it means.”

“The measure of one’s life?” Jim offered, remembering Blinky’s words.

“Sure,” Bular huffed, sounding like he was starting to cool down. “But whose measure counts? Your friends’? Your enemies’? What about when no one’s watching? Anonymous favors? Tasks that go overlooked and unmentioned? Thankless but necessary work? A good life is not always a prestigious one.”

Bular would know, Jim realized, a little stunned. Thanks to the strange nature of his mind, he could easily tell when such work was done without a word. Even those smallest, harmless secrets were important enough to catch his notice.

“Huh,” Toby said, watching Bular carefully. “You know they left out ‘philosopher’ in their description of you?”

“I was one of my father’s generals,” Bular corrected, sounding a little defensive. “An army is only as effective as the discipline and valor of its individual soldiers. It’s that quiet form of honor, when focused well, that changes the world.”

And in what way did he want to change the world? Jim knew he couldn’t hide the question in his mind, but he wasn’t certain how to ask it out loud without insinuating anything. A worst-case-scenario bubbled up from his worries; a reignited war between trolls and humans, especially with trollish magic and modern human technology, would turn the world into a literal hell. Surely Bular already knew that, if that’s even what he wanted at all.

“Not all wars are fought with swords or bombs,” Bular said.

As reassurances went, it seemed lukewarm. And the blatant demonstration that Bular could see into his mind just made Jim want to retreat somehow. He consciously lowered his shoulders when they started to tense up, and dismissed the temptation to get on his bike and ride beyond range of Bular’s power, however far that was, where he could regain the dignity of mental privacy.

“Can you not?” Strickler asked, noticing and giving Bular a disapproving glance.

“It’s okay,” Jim said. He didn’t know a way to ensure Bular would stop, and asking him seemed kind of like telling him to put on a blindfold just because his eyes made people nervous. This was a part of him. Jim idly wondered if a tin hat would work, and chuckled a little when Bular started to laugh. “It’s just going to take some getting used to.”

“Yeah, why, though?” Toby asked. “Isn’t it kinda, I dunno, invasive? Manipulative? Creepy? I mean it sucks what you had to go through as a kid and all, but don’t you have some way to, I dunno, turn it off?”

Bular regarded Toby with a pensive look as they walked. “And what of Jim’s efforts to talk Steve out of a fight, earlier today? Was that manipulative? What of his attempt to non-violently get through to Draal? Or everyday negotiations? Every word we speak pulls the strings of another person in some small way - that’s what words are for. My father and I simply see the strings more clearly.”

“Dude, I get your point, but puppet-master is not a good look,” Toby criticized. “Just saying.”

“Alright, how about this?” Bular paused, his eyes drawn to a pair of headlights that swept into the cul-de-sac beyond the trees. “Accommodation, persuasion, deception, coercion, and violence are all just methods of conflict resolution. Which would you prefer I start with?”

Toby leaned closer to Jim and muttered “Man, can you imagine him as a Speech professor? Sheesh. He’d give the whole class a complex.”

“You have an unfair advantage on… all of those methods,” Jim pointed out to Bular.

Bular’s smirk was a perfect study of ‘smug’. Jim could imagine it captured in a sinister painting, and couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going to quickly learn to dread that look. “What if I use my unfair advantage to help you?”

As a group they started circling the edge of the cul-de-sac in the shadows of the trees, aiming to approach Jim’s backyard.

“In general...” Jim paused, sensing that he needed to tread lightly. “I appreciate it, but I don’t think Draal would be - ”

“You don’t need help with Draal,” Bular interrupted. “Just stay out of Trollmarket and he shouldn’t bother you again.”

“You’re not even that upset about it,” Jim realized. “It works out in your favor.”

“So long as you do the smart thing and don’t ‘indulge his tantrums’,” Bular allowed. “But I _am_ upset. It’s disgraceful. I know he’s grieving, but I thought Draal had a better grasp of honor than to use it for - ”

“Okay, stop,” Jim said, grip tightening on his handlebars. “You’ve done this thing before, and I think I can see what it is now. You’re... interpreting Draal’s motives, but like, highlighting things in the worst light. You’re trying to drive a wedge, to convince me to not even _want_ to go back.”

“Well done,” Bular praised. “If it keeps you safe, it works in my favor, and you’ll be safer where I can reach you. But it’s not just a cold calculation. I knew Draal, long ago. He’s a legend in his own right. Loyal and courageous, and you’d be lucky to have him on your side. But after his father’s death, I don’t know if he’ll ever be the same. He may be my enemy, but even enemies suffer tragedy, and that’s not always something to celebrate.”

By turns he seemed a grim (if empathetic) mentor and a conniving (if protective) manipulator, and Jim almost wished he’d just pick one to make things simple.

“Wish granted,” Bular smirked, looking up as they approached the backyard.

The lights were on inside the house. Over the fence, Jim could see his mother standing in the kitchen, still wearing her scrubs after coming home from work. She held a glass in one hand and read something on her phone in the other. 

“Oh no,” Jim said, his whole body going cold with realization.

“It’s going to be alright, Jim,” Strickler soothed.

“You betrayed me,” Jim accused, numb. “I trusted you both, and you betrayed me.”

“Nothing so tragic as that.” Strickler lifted a hand as if instinctively moving to place it on Jim’s back, but hesitated at the last second. “Jim, listen, keeping your Trollhunter status a secret from your mother will only cause her more stress and risk in the long run.”

“You don’t know that,” Jim shot back.

“Yes, I do,” Strickler insisted. “Bearing the Amulet makes you a target for various forces that we might not always be able to protect you from, and your mother will notice a pattern sooner or later. Late nights, mysterious injuries, jumping at shadows because you’ll see what they really hide... Not knowing how to help one’s child is one of the worst things a parent must contend with. Please, don’t leave her to wonder.”

“Well, this stuff is my responsibility! And let me rephrase, _you don’t know_ how she’s going to react! What if she questions her sanity? She’s a doctor! And she works so hard! And this is all too much - I’m not Gunmar, alright? I don’t rip off nails!”

Bular hummed a mildly impressed note, watching the kitchen window. “She’s a lot tougher than you’re giving her credit for,” he observed. “And trust me, if she has to hear it from anyone else, you will wish you had told her sooner.”

“Yeah, well, a wise teacher once said that it can be hard to confess things that set us apart, or something.”

“A moving excuse,” Bular allowed, cruelly. “But that won’t help your mother.”

“Look, can you stop ‘pulling strings’ for just a second?” Jim begged.

“No one can stop pulling strings.” Bular lifted Jim by the back of his jacket, reached over the fence, and set him down in the backyard. “Every interaction is a knot. We’ll help you untangle this one.”

“Damn, that’s ice cold,” Toby judged on the other side of the fence.

“Thank you,” Bular said. Jim was sure he was going to be seeing that horrible smile in his nightmares.

“This is Rule Number Three, isn’t it?” Jim demanded. “Why are you kicking me in the gronk-nuks? Is this revenge? For what? For going to Trollmarket? For listening to Blinky bad-mouth your scary dad?”

“Wrong strings, boy.” Bular pointed at the house, merciless.

“You know, shoving people into lockers works for Steve,” Jim scowled.

“It’s not punishment, it’s practicality,” Strickler said, resting one arm along the top of the fence. “It will be good for both of you. Keeping your mother safe will go far smoother if she’s aware of who’s on her side. And whenever she gets worried, especially if you’re in the middle of something, she’ll know who to contact for reassurance of your safety. Better she learns the truth calmly from us than for her to have to grapple with it all in an emergency.”

“Us? I can’t help but notice I’m the only one on this side of the fence,” Jim grumbled.

“You want me to introduce myself right now?” Bular threatened, gathering himself to jump over.

“No! Stay back!” Jim brandished the Amulet. “Don’t make me use this!”

“Use what, Jim?” his mother called, the back door clicking closed as she stepped outside. “I saw you out here and thought you might be rehearsing your lines, but that’s not Shakespeare.”

Jim whirled to face her, and threw a glance over his shoulder at the fence. Neither sight nor sound of Strickler, Bular, or Toby. He looked to the Amulet, sitting in his raised hand, and something in its glowing surface seemed to say ‘Your move. Choose wisely.’ Jim wondered which option it would pick if it could only tell him.

“Hi, Doctor Lake!” Toby appeared over the top of the fence with a cheerful wave. Jim wondered how he had managed to climb it before realizing his friend must have clambered up onto Bular’s crouching form.

Jim quickly helped Toby down into the backyard before he could fall. “Uh… Welcome home, Mom,” Jim smiled at her, thoughts racing for any way to explain himself.

She smiled back at both of them, tired, fond, and a little puzzled. “Same to you, kiddos. Is there something wrong with the front door?”

“Uh, no - ”

“Jim forgot his key,” Toby covered smoothly. “So we hung out and studied at my place for a bit, and after it got dark, we thought maybe a back window might be unlatched, and we’d try - ”

But Barbara Lake was no fool. “There’s a back-up copy under the at-may, you both know that,” she chuckled. “If you were just playing pretend, don’t be embarrassed! That’s normal and perfectly healthy.”

Jim could feel his smile cracking at the edges. Troll business was not normal, and very dangerous, and the easy way out of this conversation was so tempting, even if it was a little childish. He could hear Bular’s claws digging into the grass on the other side of the fence, and the beginnings of a quiet, impatient rumble.

“Woo, dang!” Toby made a show of trying to get a view of the cul-de-sac on his tiptoes. “Hear the motor on that one?”

Would Bular actually reveal himself if Jim didn’t explain first? Or was he just bluffing? Jim’s hopes started to soar at the thought of waving all this off, cooking dinner for his mother and Toby, and winding down from a stressful day instead of cramming yet more stress into it. And as the cherry on top, Bular would have to think twice about giving him that horrible, smug look ever again.

A thump shook the ground, and Jim wasn’t sure if Bular had used a fist or his tail.

“What was that?” Barbara asked, carefully watching the fence.

 _'Okay! Stop! I’ll do it! Just give me a moment!'_ Jim thought, hoping Bular would get the message. He took a deep breath, braced himself, and turned to his mother. “Mom, I have something to show you.” He held out the Amulet. 

“Oh,” Barbara adjusted her glasses and leaned a little closer. “Cool markings. Is this a replica from a new show you like?”

“No, I found it,” Jim said. “Or it found me. And kind of uh… bonded to me? Try not to freak out, okay? Watch this...” He took a steadying breath and a step back. “ _For the glory of Merlin, Daylight is mine to command.”_

In some ways, it was like the first time he’d summoned the Trollhunter Armor. Each hair lifted along his arms and the back of his neck, and the bright blue glow of a midday sky suffused each piece of armor as it assembled and conformed around him. Daylight’s hilt manifested in the palm of his right hand, and he held it out to the side, angled low.

In other ways, it was not like the first time at all. He hadn’t felt sick, or like he was bracing for a difficult night. His mother’s eyes were impossibly wide.

“Pretty sweet, eh?” Toby asked, filling the silence. “Uh, sorry I lied to you about the key, Doctor Lake. I wasn’t sure if Jim was _ready_ to talk about it yet.” He aimed the last part at the fence.

“How did...?” Barbara trailed off, pinched her arm, frowned, pinched harder, gave up on that, and finally reached out to touch one of the spaulders resting on Jim’s shoulders. “Oh my God... Jim?” Her wide blue eyes met his. “What is this?”

Jim tried on an encouraging smile. “It’s called the Amulet of Daylight. And being bonded to it means I’m the Trollhunter.”

“ _Troll_ -hunter?” Barbara repeated, trying to comprehend. “I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the magic armor, and now you’re telling me there are trolls?”

Jim nodded and shrugged, hoping despite his racing heart that a casual tone would help. “Pretty much. They’re good at hiding, and most of them just seem to want to be left alone. But there are these different factions. And both sides kinda hate each other, but they’re also both trying to help me. It’s confusing, I know, and there’s still a lot I have to learn - ”

“And, wait, you’re expected to hunt them?” she asked seriously. “Is that dangerous? Or are they like those little hair dolls? Please, tell me they’re the little kind, and that big sword is just… ceremonial?”

Beyond the fence, Bular failed to cover another quiet, exasperated rumble.

“Well, it’s only been a week, and I haven’t done any hunting,” Jim said quickly. He dismissed Daylight in a distracting flash of light and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s mostly been a uh, crash-course in culture and history so far.”

“You both have been secretly talking to trolls for the past week?” Barbara asked.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Jim said, shoulders slumping as the guilt hit him. “It’s just, you already have so much to worry about, and I didn’t want to add to it.”

His Mom wrapped him in her arms, and Jim hugged back. She smelled like disinfectant and safety and home, and he could feel a little of the tension in his back start to drain. She kissed his forehead. “You were _always_ my hero, Jim,” she promised. “No matter what, I’m never too busy for you.” When she pulled back, a few unshed tears swam in her eyes, but she was smiling, radiant and proud. “This is so… It’s a lot. I’m not sure I fully grasp that it’s real, it could be just a vivid dream. But dream or not, I’m glad you told me,” she said. 

Jim smiled back, feeling a little hopeful. He chuckled nervously. “Well, uh, I’m not done yet. Remember I mentioned some trolls are helping me? Well, some of them can turn human. They’re called changelings, and we gotta keep that very secret - I still don’t understand why, but I’ve been told most trolls can’t do that, and that they don’t like something about it.”

“Oh, they’re not the little ones, then?” Barbara asked. “They’re sized like us?”

“Uh, bigger,” Jim admitted. “Usually way bigger.”

“And made of all these different kinds of awesome, living stone,” Toby added.

Barbara’s fingertips touched her chin, her eyes darting as she debated what to ask next. “Do we know any of these disguised trolls?”

Jim nodded, sidestepped, and gestured toward the fence. “You’ve met one before, yeah. He walked with us home, and wants to talk to - ”

“Just try it,” Bular dared, still crouching and hidden on the other side of the fence. “I don’t care if it saves face - the next fool who climbs me is gonna get punched into the moon.”

Jim grimaced and glanced back at his Mom. “Okay, two walked with us,” he corrected himself. “One of them is a changeling.”

Strickler straightened his jacket as he stood up, giving Bular an unimpressed glance. His expression warmed into a pleasant smile as he looked over the fence. “Hello, Barbara.”

She adjusted her glasses again as if she didn’t trust them. “Walter?” Her voice hardened a fraction. “You knew about this?”

“In his defense, he was waiting for me to tell you,” Jim said quickly, holding a hand up. “And they both got kinda pushy about it,” he grumbled.

“It’s not exactly the sort of thing I can hold a parent-teacher conference about,” Strickler chuckled, eyes darting in a quick hint of nervousness. “At least not officially. But it seems human history is not the only subject I’ll be teaching Young Atlas, after all.”

Barbara pressed a hand to her forehead as if either checking for a fever or trying to physically steady her mind. “Is he going to have time for that, with school? And a play? And chess club?”

“Uh, ‘chess club’ is more of a code-word for Trollhunter business,” Jim admitted.

Strickler’s eyes softened in an apologetic look. “Regrettably, Barbara, both trollish and human worlds can be very dangerous, and the Amulet has never before chosen so young a champion. Jim is acquitting himself admirably, but he has yet much to learn, and his survival and well-being take precedence over any grades. But I can still help him with those, too.”

“So, being bonded to this Amulet has put his life in danger?” Barbara demanded, her voice ominously steady, as if she were weighing options and preparing to do something about it. “Is there any way to break it?”

“Trolls have debated that idea for centuries,” Strickler shrugged. “But now that Jim knows of our world, breaking this bond - if it’s even possible - would not do him any favors. It may have gotten him into this mess, but you’re looking at the strongest set of magical armor ever forged. One punch from a fully grown bull troll is rather like being hit by a bus, but with that armor, Jim could shrug dozens of them off. It is best that he keeps it.”

“And you, Walter, you’re actually a troll in disguise?” Barbara asked, somewhere between skeptical and clarifying.

Strickler had the look of a man who had told himself to expect the worst, and was still sort of caught off-guard by it. “I… Not exactly. It’s a complicated state of being. I’m never quite in one world or the other.”

Barbara frowned as that glimpse of vulnerability seemed to snap her out of something. “Would you like to come in, Walter?”

He blinked in surprise. “...Yes, thank you,” he decided, and climbed over the fence with the kind of ease that suggested he wasn’t even consciously thinking about it. He didn’t even scuff his shoes. “I will help protect Jim,” he promised, standing tall and solemn, and watching Barbara’s eyes carefully. “I know quite a bit about self-defense against a variety of creatures. But I am not the only one invested in his safety. Jim also has another mentor, combat-trainer, and bodyguard present tonight...” 

Strickler swept a hand toward the fence as a dark shape loomed higher and higher. “May I introduce the Dark Prince, Bular, General and Heir to our Underlord, Gunmar the Black, and the most accomplished swordsman in our age.”

Barbara stared up and up at the horned behemoth before seeming to lose her balance.

“Mom!” Jim caught her and helped her take a seat on a nearby yard-boulder. “It’s okay. He’s on our side.”

“Makes an impression, doesn’t he?” Toby asked.

Bular clapped his stony hands together, slow and sarcastic. “Thought you knew how to set the tone,” he grumbled, side-eyeing Strickler.

“Oh, don’t pick at me,” Strickler huffed. “You have grass on your front.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who left kudos and comments or just stopped by for a peek at this lunacy! I appreciate every single one of you, and your support fuels me! <3

Sitting down worked. Barbara Lake’s legs would not betray her, and Bular did not seem quite as big, settled on his haunches.

Bular couldn’t help feeling absurd, indulging in these meaningless little techniques to soothe someone who, at any other point in his life, would have been considered prey. But minding his distance within the backyard, letting Stricklander handle the talking, making his silhouette as small as he could reasonably tolerate, and avoiding direct eye contact seemed to be helping.

If ‘helping’ meant ‘maybe preventing things from getting any worse.’

Barbara had almost screamed when Bular had jumped the fence. Even when he put in the effort to sink to all fours and absorb the shock of his landing so he wouldn’t shake her hut. Her thoughts were a whirlwind, and Bular was beginning to regret ignoring Jim’s concerns about overwhelming her. 

At least she had good instincts.

Jim had dismissed his armor, Amulet safe in his pocket, and knelt by his mother with a pitcher of water and a glass. She promptly went for the pitcher. Bular reminded himself to stop watching just in case she glanced his way again. 

She did. Bodyguard or not, he looked like a demon, and loomed like a wolf observing a cluster of sheep, in her mind. The back door was too far away, and too breakable, and too closed, and she knew it wouldn’t lock fast enough, and even if the boys could make it through, locks wouldn’t make any difference. And those red eyes, those teeth, would find them. As a medical professional, Barbara was intimately familiar with the composition of the human body, and how quickly, in a variety of awful ways, said composition could be broken up. Creatures of flesh might as well have been gossamer in comparison to the entity before her now. How had humanity not gone extinct when stone titans roamed the night? And were all those legends of trolls and ogres and other man-eating giants true?

Bular was familiar with the mortal terror of fleshlings meeting him for the first (and almost always final) time, and it no longer impressed him that much. Fleshlings tended to instinctively know their true place on the trophic levels when they first saw him. Comfortable and pompous in their delusions of being apex predators, they always scrambled for escape or fainted like the domesticated animals they truly were, unable to accept the horrifying truth of their own mortality as he closed in on them.

But Barbara Lake was something else.

As both a mother and a doctor, she was far from squeamish. She helped to bring life into the world, and battled death itself. All while having the grace to accept that her war was one she would always, ultimately lose.

And of all bodyguards for her son to have, she could not imagine a more formidable looking one. If they were telling the truth.

Bular couldn’t help a little smile at that. He liked her already.

Unable to think of how else to appear any smaller, and trying to disengage from _Insight_ so he’d stop feeling the echoes of Barbara’s justifiably-nervous heartbeat inside his own chest, Bular reclined onto his side in the grass. The cool crush of it felt good against his living stone, and he rolled onto his back to try and count the few stars bright enough to make it past the city-glow. He remembered a time when all thoughts of counting them were laughable, so many had shined in the perfect dark. Nearby trees, at least, provided a nice frame to the dismal view. The thought made him sigh.

“Oh, dear me, are you bored, your majesty?” Stricklander snapped at him from over by the humans.

Bular smirked, not needing _Insight_ to recognize the game, and the Impure’s goal. He fixed his expression into one of weary petulance, and craned his neck to glare over his chest and arm. “What do you want?” he grumbled back, keeping his tone more tired than annoyed. To adjust for a fleshling’s delicate sensibilities, all he had to do was not be threatening, and use opportunities for non-threatening humor. Granted, both tasks were daunting, but he believed in himself.

“Perhaps a little more participation?” Stricklander tilted his head, brows high. As _Insight_ started to sharpen with his attention, Bular realized Stricklander wasn’t just playing. Bular was the source of Barbara’s unease, and no one held the power to diffuse unease quite like the source of it. But that was what the game was for, and Bular frowned at the idea of getting up, and taking up that much more space in her mind.

“Wait, you really are a prince?” Toby asked.

Bular glanced at him. “Yeah?”

“And you let him talk to you like that?”

Game or not, such a question served his purposes well enough. Barbara was paying attention, some of her fear beginning to bleed off as she watched the surprisingly harmless interaction.

“Yeah,” Bular said, letting his head fall back with a thunk. “I know he loves me,” he teased.

“Wait,” Barbara muttered. “Walter, are you two together?” 

She buried the glimmer of disappointment well, but it piqued Bular’s curiosity hard enough to make him sit up. Better yet, Stricklander liked her, too, now that Bular knew what to look for. It was a cautious sort of affection, but it was there - a little sapling closely guarded and watered by dreams. Oh, that was delicious! Fostering a connection between those two would help keep the Trollhunter where they wanted him.

The sneaky Impure had already thought of that, Bular realized. One of many possible contingencies in his web of plans. If he could pull it off, Bular would even let him keep this little fleshling family as a reward.

“Maybe in another life, we could have been,” Bular lamented over Stricklander’s alarmed protests. “Alas,” he shrugged his big shoulders, unable to help grinning. “He’s just too pretty for me.”

“That’s cold, your majesty,” Toby judged.

Stricklander met Barbara’s eyes and gave her a helpless shrug, but Bular could see he was pleased with the results. Barbara no longer looked or felt like she was a step away from losing her mind. “I try to introduce him with dignity, and this is how he thanks me,” he chuckled. “He might not always mind his manners, but he’s not always as scary as he looks, either.”

Bular put a palm to his chest with a scandalized noise that wasn’t entirely forced.

“Truthfully, he was quite adorable as a child,” Stricklander continued.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Bular said, seriousness creeping into his tone. Sure, tugging on human heartstrings with tales of his youngest years worked earlier, but even then, it had been a struggle not to jump in and re-route the conversation on the spot. Standing on a pedestal was all well and good. Being pinned belly-up on display to show his weaknesses, not so much.

“It’s true...” Stricklander spared him a pointed glance and thoughts of _‘This method gets results, especially with mothers. You can swallow your pride a little longer.’_

Bular glared back with his best _‘I don’t care. Drop it or I’ll eat you’_ face. A wave of sympathy from out of nowhere almost knocked Bular over again, and when he got his bearings, he noticed Jim watching him with a knowing, uncomfortable half-smile and a little _Insight_ into the mortifying tradition of showing off baby pictures.

Bular’s stomach clenched unpleasantly and he tried to mentally shove the images away. Like with most animals, human young were unbearably cute, and trolls were social creatures with deeply-ingrained protective instincts. But human young grew up to be food, he reminded himself firmly. Treacherous, Surface-stealing, tasty pests that bred and died as rapidly as insects, and stole even the stars from the sky with their noisome lights.

“There are baby trolls?” Barbara asked, her imagination running wild with the idea. Bular blinked at her mental image of a tiny, chubby version of himself with his mane fluffed up, and a half-grumpy, half-puzzled look in his overly-large eyes. The same expression he must have been wearing right then, he realized. Guilt started to brew within her for judging him based on how terrifying he looked now.

...Surface-stealing, tasty pests that got attached with a recklessness that stunned Bular every time he witnessed it. He didn’t think he - or any imagined version of himself - had ever been the target of such before. It felt like he had been tossed something heavy and somehow important, and only just managed to catch it. Bular looked at Stricklander, trying to figure out how to ask what he was supposed to do with it now.

“Oh, what’s that on your arm?” Barbara asked, leaning forward like she might stand up at any second.

Bular glanced down, lost, and noticed he’d been scratching flecks of a thin layer of dead stone off his left forearm. The remnants of Kanjigar’s parting gift. “Sun-scarring?” he said, more out of reflex than anything else. Winning over trolls and changelings was fine, but this was uncharted, weird territory. He would have been happy with her merely tolerating him. Fleshlings weren’t supposed to look at him like that. He lifted his arm and gnawed at a particularly stubborn chunk of scarring on the back of his hand. The sting of prying it free was grounding, and he felt better for having something to do.

“So, trolls really do turn into stone under the sun?” she asked, disturbed and fascinated by watching him tear pieces off of himself. Flesh analogs of surgeries and prosthetics flashed through her mind as she considered how to develop a treatment plan in the event of particularly debilitating scarring. Something fierce and protective started to rise up at the thought of the damage even troll whelps must have to fear from the sun.

Bular flexed his hand as if to demonstrate, while debating the wisdom of disengaging from _Insight_ again so it would stop surprising him enough to let him process. “If we’re exposed too long,” he said, automatically. “Otherwise, it’s more like a bad sunburn that will heal with time.”

“That must be itching terribly,” Stricklander observed with just the right amount of worry in his tone, his sly mind capitalizing on yet another opportunity. Bular glared at him from over his hand, licking the freshly exposed and sensitive living-stone, and not sure he liked this method and its unprecedented effectiveness. “Bular here has faced many dangers and collected all manner of injuries throughout his life. Trolls have their own medicines and treatment - ”

“Will you teach me?” Barbara stood. “If you are both going to be protecting my son, and putting yourselves in danger, too, I want to know how to help.”

Stricklander blinked, a little stunned at how easy it was to coax her into emotional investment, and Bular couldn’t even muster a vindictive chuckle at seeing the Impure thrown off-guard (and all the more charmed) by a fleshling.

Tonight’s operation had been centered around getting Barbara used to the idea of trolls. It looked like they would have to get used to her, too.

Stricklander didn’t even have to force his smile. Then again, he probably never had. Not around her. “That is greatly appreciated, Barbara, but not necessary,” he said gently. “We are hardy folk, and our own professionals don’t have nearly as much of a patient population to worry about.”

“I’m serious, Walter,” Barbara said. “This is important. I’ll make time.”

“Mom!” Jim stepped in. “Work already keeps you so busy, and they can handle themselves.”

“Certainly,” she allowed, giving the jawbone hilts above Bular’s shoulders a wary, impressed glance, and thinking of the easy grace Stricklander had used to jump the fence. She wrapped an arm around her son’s shoulders. “But it will give me peace of mind to know that I can help, too.”

“If you wish,” Stricklander gave in, pleasantly light-headed from the determination in her eyes and voice. “I can supply you with some information and useful components to have on hand in case of emergencies.”

“Yes, please, I’d like that,” Barbara insisted. She raised an index finger. “As a starting point.”

Impossibly, it all escalated from there. Bular felt like the world had heaved itself upside-down and jumped into his palm in the span of a blink. He reminded himself to keep still and quiet as Stricklander guided Barbara, at her request and with his baffled consent, through the process of chiseling the dead stone from the fresh with some manner of garage tool. 

It occurred to Bular that he didn’t have to put up with this nonsense, but he couldn’t bring himself to move away. Barbara had a sure and careful touch, her thoughts focused and attentive to keep from damaging the living stone while clearing room for new growth with efficient strokes, and Bular had not been fussed over like this in thousands of years.

He had painted murals of fleshlings worshiping at his feet. He had devised and consulted his father on extensive plans of how to manage their populations when the time came to rule them. He had indulged in dreams of what it might be like to be surrounded by fragile creatures reliant upon him for protection and order, and so devoted to him that he would not even need to chase his meals down. Their guardian and their tomb.

His first taste of fleshling devotion was nothing like he imagined. More than anything, it reminded him of a carefully constructed nest, the rough textures of grooming tongues, encouragement to eat as much as he wanted so he would grow up strong, watchful eyes guarding him while he played and explored, games of ‘hide and scare,’ chasing, and wrestling, pride in his accomplishments, safety and reassurance whenever he had gotten hurt, what an honor and a joy it was to watch him grow… His father and the closest members of his then-council, each of the latter, eventually outlived.

There were different kinds of devotion, he reminded himself. It was one thing to be looked upon as an immortal god-king, and something completely different to be tended by someone who both understood his vulnerabilities and wanted to help.

 _'Either you’re a talented actor, or you were not expecting that,’_ Jim thought as he approached. The boy’s back felt tense, and he mostly kept his eyes on his mother. He didn’t have sufficient reason to think Bular might harm any of them, but Jim possessed his own compelling devotion to the safety of his mother, and tales of Gunmar’s appetite for human flesh still lingered in the back of his mind. If it weren’t for _Insight_ , Bular would not have known what to make of the look on Jim’s face when their eyes met.

Bular shook his head helplessly and mouthed the word ‘Both’ as a secret confession.

“So, you’re a prince?” Barbara occasionally glanced up at him as she worked. “Trolls have kingdoms?”

“Some of them,” Bular admitted. He glanced at Toby and Jim, and steeled himself. Hearing from them first would drive her away for sure. “My father, and my people… we don’t have the gentlest reputation.”

He could feel some of Jim’s tension ease at his side. _‘Keeping with tonight’s lessons about coming clean, then?’_ the boy thought. _‘Good. I was almost afraid you were going to be a hypocrite.'_

Bular snorted and opened his mouth to continue, but someone beat him to it.

“This about the whole ‘eating people’ thing?” Toby asked. “‘Cause if that rumor’s true, you’re giving yourself way too much credit.”

It was impressive in a surreal way, how Stricklander managed to pull off only a look of mild surprise while internally shrieking.

Barbara froze, and Bular gently pulled his arm away from her, trying not to feel too sad about the loss of something he had not realized he had missed so much, and clenching his fist against the temptation to thump Toby into the dirt for his insolence. But he came prepared for this fight. “You’ve heard of the Battle of Killahead Bridge, yes?” he asked the boys.

“When your father, Gunmar,” Jim added for Barbara’s benefit, “was banished to the Darklands?”

“That was nearly a thousand years ago,” Bular said. “And the Pact to stop eating humans was not formed until centuries later.” He let that sink in for a bit. “Everyone ate humans back then, and continued to, even after my father was sealed away. So really, Gunmar and my people stopped eating humans long before your other mentors did.”

“Other mentors?” Barbara asked Jim. “Are they here, too?”

“Uh, no,” Jim admitted, reeling as he struggled with the idea of Trollmarket’s denizens having ever consumed human flesh. He cleared his throat, reminded himself to look that up later to see for himself, and tried to focus on what his mother needed to know now. “They don’t all get along. One side says I have a sacred duty of protection for both their world and ours, and they say Gunmar is too dangerous to release. And the other side - Strickler’s and Bular’s - wants me to free Gunmar and his people, and in exchange they’ll protect me right back.” 

“Jim, we are going to protect you no matter what,” Stricklander interjected firmly. “Gunmar ordered that, himself.”

Jim looked a little surprised at that, caught between reassured, hopeful, and conflicted over all he had learned today.

Bular barely held back a low, resentful growl, bracing himself for what a pain this was going to be. But if the boy still needed convincing... “I’ll help you learn Trollish,” he conceded, managing not to grind his teeth. “You’ll be able to do your own research without anyone’s interpretive flair, aside from the writers’, and you can fact check everyone till the sun comes up.”

Jim gave him a puzzled look, searching for the catch. _‘That’s very… not manipulative of you,’_ he observed silently. _‘Does this mean you’re going to help me figure out how to handle Draal, so I actually have the time to do that research?’_

Bular actually did growl this time, and passed it off as frustration with another stubborn piece of sun-scarring while he tried to squash a treacherous flare of pride. Unruly, smartass fleshling. He was learning so quickly.

“Do have a care for pronunciation, though,” Stricklander warned. “The locals may still remember enough of Gumm-Gumm dialects to grow suspicious.”

“Gumm-Gumm?” Barbara asked, bemused.

“Bringers of slow, horrible, painful, and thoroughly calculated death, in Troll-speak,” Toby translated helpfully. “We know, we had the same reaction.”

“I understand how your enemies might call you that,” Barbara said cautiously, eyeing the jawbone hilts over Bular’s shoulders. “But that’s the name you call yourselves?”

“Not at first,” Bular conceded grudgingly. “We were a bunch of different tribes with different names all banded together, and our rivals came up with a flattering shorthand. It stuck.”

“I take it they’re not as violent these days?” she asked, and while her tone was hopeful, those hilts cemented her doubts.

“No, they still are,” Bular said, cramming the last of his dwindling patience into his tone. He would try this new method of asking a naive Trollhunter for help, but he would not suffer the indignity of padding the truth of what his people suffered for the comfort of pampered fleshlings who had never known hunger and isolation. “They have to be. My people are freezing and starving in a lightless hell where there is little else aside from monsters to eat. They thoroughly calculate their resources, possible ambush points, and how much meat to ration, and the death they bring is horrible and painful, but it is swift. They can’t afford to waste what energy they have left, and they still freeze, starve, or get picked off anyway. Can you picture that? They’ve been fighting for centuries just to survive, and their numbers are vanishing. Even my father may succumb if we can’t find a way to save them in time.”

Bular looked to Jim and Toby, and the echoes of Blinky’s history lesson. “Trollmarket fears a reignited war if my people are freed. But they’re not an army anymore. They’re refugees.”

“They fear what Gunmar can do,” Jim corrected, reminding himself to stay impartial even as he struggled with remorse for even considering the possibility of refusing to let the Gumm-Gumms out of not just their exile, but their extinction.

“What can he do?” Barbara asked.

“Trollmarket says he’s got mind-control powers,” Toby said, perched on one of the yard boulders.

Bular heaved a dramatic, growling sigh. “It’s not mind-control! He doesn’t control people, and he doesn’t need to. He just knows how they work. And is that really so condemnable?” he asked. “Frightening, sure, no one takes well to feeling vulnerable and exposed - trolls especially. But is it worse than killing? Trolls can live for millennia, each one of them has a wealth of knowledge, skills, memories, and relationships the scope of which humans can only dream of having - and who knows that better than one who can directly feel those things? If Gunmar prefers to win them over rather than destroy them, is that really such a terrible thing?”

“You talk a good game,” Jim said, meaning it. “But those swords on your back tell a different story.”

“Same story, just a different part of it.” Bular glanced at Stricklander. “How did you put it earlier? Even an empath cannot reach those who have already decided he’s their enemy… And if we cannot reach them, we do what we must.” He gestured to Jim’s pocket. “We all hope you will never need Daylight, Jim. And it’s possible you won’t. But if you want peace, you may find yourself facing those who were already set against you from the beginning, and backing out of a fight is not always an option. We’ll be there to defend you, but we can’t always choose our battles, and as my father knows all too well, words are not always enough.”

“Why should it fall to Jim to make peace?” Barbara demanded. “He’s a boy. He has nothing to do with any of this, aside from being chosen by that Amulet thing.”

“Our thoughts exactly,” Stricklander said, pointedly and above Jim’s protest. “Ending ancient conflicts, while a valiant goal, is not your responsibility,” he told him. “It is up to the factions themselves to resolve their grudges. We can make steps toward that once they don’t have to worry about dying out anymore.”

“But would Gunmar even agree to peace after returning?” Jim asked. “And if he was gone long before this Pact you mentioned, who’s to say he will honor it, too?”

Stricklander smiled patiently. “You may be surprised, the lengths Gunmar will go for those he considers his.”

“Do you want to meet him?” Bular asked, enjoying the alarm that question caused. Like little fireworks erupting all around him.

“Oh, really? Now?” Stricklander demanded. Worries of scaring the fleshlings off foofed up around him like a cloud of molted feathers. “Isn’t it a bit soon?”

Bular smirked, much to Jim’s discomfort. “Father will be the judge of that.”

“Excuse me? How?” Toby asked, raising his hand like he was in class. “He’s in the Darklands, right?”

“Oh, right,” Bular said as if he forgot, but he couldn’t quite squash the grin giving him away. “Anyway, it’s been an eventful night. You should all get some rest.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sake-of-my-soul on tumblr created gorgeous art for this chapter! Go forth and behold!
> 
> https://sake-of-my-soul.tumblr.com/post/627724648390557696/xdeusxmachinax-undignifiend

Bular yelled like he had stubbed a toe. 

It sounded like it came from some nearby room, and it occurred to Jim that, even if he didn’t know the source of Bular’s ire, he should probably be running.

“There you are!” Bular manifested in front of him in a column of cinders, looming, his red eyes livid. “No, don’t move! I’ve chased you down eight times already!”

They were in the gym, and naturally, Bular was wearing a stack of mole-themed pancakes on his horns to show what faction he’d be associated with in the upcoming school food fight. And naturally, the pancakes were wearing socks for garnish. The event wouldn’t be inclusive for trolls if there were no socks, after all.

Bular snarled and spiked the pancakes into the floorboards with more wrath than strictly necessary, in Jim’s opinion. School spirit wasn’t that big a deal to him, either, but Bular didn’t need to be dramatic about it. 

“Enough! Focus!” Bular snapped his claws right in front of Jim’s face, and Jim thought he saw sparks fly from them. “How have you fleshlings gone through life with so little practice at this?” the troll prince demanded. “Quit messing around and finish reading this book!”

Jim accepted the heavy, gem-encrusted tome and figured the gym must also be a library. “That’s right, I have to study,” he remembered. But the letters kept changing into Trollish runes and glyphs and back again, and he couldn’t make any sense of them. They started fighting, decking and kicking each other across the ancient paper.

“Good, just stay there and focus on that,” Bular said with his hands out as if Jim was a house of cards in peril. “Now don’t fall in again. The others keep wandering off, too.”

“Fall in? Into the book?” Jim could feel himself inevitably tipping toward the crease binding two pages together. They had feathered edges, and were starting to peel apart, leaving a yawning canyon with cliffs like spiraling, fractal patterns, rising up around him. The letters, runes, and glyphs stopped quarreling and squeaked in astonishment. But the squeaks were written in speech bubbles, and they broke apart and started fighting, too.

“No!” Bular scolded, grabbing Jim by the back of his jacket and hauling him out of the book and in front of his incredulous face. “You’re impossible!” He turned and bellowed over his shoulder “Stricklander! I’ll get the rest, just keep Jim busy!”

“Overwhelmed already?” Mr. Strickler dropped from the mysteriously high cathedral ceiling, stuck an impressive superhero landing on one of the science fair tables advertising the ritual significance of hot sauce, and straightened his jacket as he stood, wings folding into smoke. His eyes were glowing, and sometimes he had horns, and smooth etchings in his changing skin. 

A hot sauce logo appeared in the air in front of him, and a commercial voiceover announced in smug tones “For the dapper...”

Bular shoved Jim through the logo and at his history teacher. “How about we cram another lobe into _your_ brain, and next time _you_ can try tethering three undisciplined fleshlings?” the troll snapped. “Now stay with Jim. Try to get him lucid if you can.” Then he vanished.

Strickler gave Jim a sympathetic half-smile. “I think that pancake-hat insulted him.”

Jim nodded seriously. “Losing one’s honor is much worse when you have to wear the hat of shame.” He was pretty sure Blinky had warned him of that. No wonder Draal would rather fight to the death instead.

“Time’s up, fleshbag!” Draal roared from across the football field, pounding one fist into his other palm.

“Oh no, I forgot the Amulet!” Jim realized, searching his pajama pockets. “Wha -? I’m not even dressed!”

“Neither the Amulet, nor dress-code pants, can save you now!” Draal towered over him, grinning down into the shadow he cast. “ _No de_ _tu presentación de comprehensión!_ ”

_“Lo siento, Señor Draal! No me mates!”_

“Alright, that’s quite enough.” Strickler took Jim by the shoulders and forced him to turn around, where Jim could see they were now standing on the Acropolis, among the ruins of the Parthenon. “Jim, you are dreaming.”

“Are you sure?” Jim marveled. “I think I feel pretty awake.”

“Try counting your fingers,” Strickler recommended.

It took Jim several tries, but he finally got his answer: They kept changing. “I think you’re right, I’m dreaming!” He grinned at Strickler, giddy on a sense of déjà vu and unchecked potential. “I can do whatever I want here! I can fly!”

“No, no, we’ve already been through that three times now.” Strickler rested his hands firmly on Jim’s shoulders to keep him from floating away. “And I’m not just a figment of your imagination. Bular and I are here with you. This is a Visit.”

Jim frowned. “How did you guys get into my mind?”

Strickler sighed. “Technically, we’re in Bular’s, since he’s our tether.”

“Tether?”

“Yes, so we stay connected. Our minds are psychically linked through his - but he can only really handle that sort of thing in an altered state of consciousness. It’s how we can meet here without possessing his abilities or casting dream-spells, ourselves.” Strickler removed his hands from Jim’s shoulders cautiously, as if checking to see if he would stay in place on his own. “Unfortunately, he doesn’t have the same knack for it as his father. And you, Toby, and your mother don’t have as much practice maintaining lucidity as his usual associates. So you have all been scampering about like mad cats for the past half-hour, and it’s giving Bular a monstrous headache.”

“That sounds miserable,” Jim said. “And this was his idea?”

Strickler smirked. “He was a lot more confident at the start of it.”

“But how do I know all that’s true, anyway?” Jim asked. “All this could just be something my own subconscious came up with, right?”

“If this Visit ever starts going as planned, you’ll know,” Strickler promised. “I’ll help keep you lucid until...” He paused, noticing the darkening sky’s texture of stalactites, towers, and sharp, winding tunnels. Snow began to fall among the ruins overlooking Athens. “He’s here,” he said, quiet and reverent.

Something shifted, whether in time with those words or caused by them. The world around them grew solid and still, as if pinned by a massive, invisible hand. Jim felt more awake and present than he could recall feeling before. Captured, somehow. Some instinct told him that opening his eyes would not work. 

His breath misted in front of his face in the emerging cold, and Jim knew in a space deeper than his bones that they had just crossed somewhere beyond sleep and into someone else’s domain.

Bular manifested in a cloud of ashes, Barbara supported on one shoulder, and Toby carried under his other arm. The Dark Prince heaved a sigh of relief and muttered what could have either been a Trollish prayer or a long, bitter curse under his breath.

“Ohmygosh, oh this is bad!” Toby panicked as he was set onto his feet. “Jim, I’ve seen this in a movie - if we die here, we die in real life!”

Bular snorted and helped Barbara down off his shoulder. “No, you don’t.”

“Why is it so cold?” Barbara asked, folding her arms close over her chest. “The air feels like ice!”

Strickler summoned a long, thick coat out of thin air and held it open for her. “Our new tether has suffered the cold for so long, he barely remembers warmth,” he explained. “We’ve tried helping him recall it before, but it makes returning to the cold so much worse for him.”

Jim stared, turning, keeping wide eyes on their surroundings. There were all sorts of things he could say to the revelation that Bular had taken them to meet Gunmar. None of them felt adequate, and he could not tell whether the prickling in his skin and the trembling in his bones was from fear, or this all-devouring cold that would surely kill them before long, no matter what Bular said.

A deep, resonating voice echoed over the outcrop. “Let them recall it while they are here.” 

A bonfire erupted from the ground nearby, throwing only ghostly light until Bular held out a fist toward it, pulling color and heat from its depths to radiate out. Toby, Barbara, and Jim huddled near it once they realized it was safe, and the relief was so profound, the warmth so encompassing, that Jim released the shaky breath he had not realized he had been holding.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” Barbara asked, holding Jim close, partially wrapping him and Toby in the coat she wore. It felt a little silly, but Jim did not shrug her off. This was her way of protecting him now, and he would protect her in turn. As always, they would take care of each other. She glanced at Bular. “This is your father? Gunmar?”

The Dark Prince nodded, the pride in his expression and posture unmistakable.

“Now...” Despite the rumbling growl carrying under Gunmar’s words, exhaustion weighed heavy in them. “What would you ask of me?”

Jim still could not pinpoint what direction he came from. “Will you show yourself?” he asked, throat dry. Speaking to him without seeing him felt too strange. He recalled the drawings from Blinky’s book, and wondered if they did the Skullcrusher justice.

They did not.

A cold iris loomed in the darkness beyond the firelight. Night had fallen so deeply that even the city beyond the edge of the Acropolis was lost, even Athens’ lights swallowed by shadow. Blue etchings, the same cold tint as his lone eye, glowed faintly in the dark, their shifting patterns the only indication of his soundless movements as Gunmar the Black strode closer. He stopped at the edge of the firelight’s range, a massive shadow against a slightly darker sky. The fire’s warm glow clashed with him as if opposed to his nature, unreal and wrong against the planes of his stone. Great curved horns swept out and overhead, larger than Jim had seen on any other troll, rooted against his skull like that of a twisted crown, and trailed by a dark mane bristling down his back. 

Gunmar towered like a legendary statue come to life, impossibly massive, ancient, and patient as a mountain, before settling on all fours. His remaining, alien eye traced each of the humans’ movements, reflecting nothing of his own thoughts.

It was easy to see why some trolls doubted Gunmar’s heritage. He was unlike any troll Jim had met, even Bular. All at once, Jim felt he could grasp what a terrifying thing it was for such an unstoppable predator to be able to know him at a glance. He had asked to see Gunmar, and in turn, felt all the more like an insect pinned and preserved in a display box. Like prey caught with nowhere to run. His brief life opened like the pages of a tiny book before a force as vast and terrible as a hurricane swallowing the horizon.

The bright, reassuring metal of the Amulet manifested in his hand, and he dreaded the likelihood that he would need it. But what good could it do? The best it had managed was to lock Gunmar away, like exorcising a demon from the world he did not belong to. And drained as he was, the troll king still moved and watched as if animated by something beyond natural life. Would the Amulet be enough to even stall him until they figured out how to wake up?

Gunmar spared him a brief flash of something that might have been a half-amused smile. “You are not prisoners,” he said, teeth and tusks flashing in the firelight, barely as bright as his dimly glowing eye. “If you wish to wake up, you are free to.”

Bular groaned, his mane ruffling as he massaged behind his horns. “If you do, don’t ask me to bring you back here again,” he grumbled, one eye closed against an ache so sharp he couldn’t seem to unclench his jaw.

“Don’t blame us! We didn’t ask you to begin with,” Toby pointed out, huddling close to Jim and Barbara, and only daring to take his eyes off the Hungry One in quick glances.

Gunmar tilted his head, the length of his regal horns exaggerating the movement, and he shared a sardonic glance with Bular, quick as a thought. “Let's not waste time, then," he said. "You already know the truth, that letting me back into the world comes with great risk. I could promise anything, and given my old reputation, you would be right to question whether or not I would honor an oath made to humans.”

“Father...” Bular’s eyes went wide, his hackles rising. “What are - ?!”

Gunmar’s growl sounded more like a tired purr. He leaned in and knocked his forehead against Bular’s, whispering “It will be alright, son.”

“No!” Bular slammed his fists into the ground, cracking it. He stared up at his father in wild disbelief. “You can’t! After all this time, I’m not gonna let - ”

“You must,” Gunmar said. “You will make a great king, Bular.”

“Not yet!” Bular snarled, the grief so keen in his voice that Jim wondered if trolls were capable of crying, too. Bular leaned into his father’s broad chest. “Not yet. Please, Father...”

“I am willing to offer you a deal, Jim Lake Junior,” Gunmar said over his son’s horns. Bular’s shoulders had started to tremble.

Jim frowned, feeling like he somehow stood on a precipice, but wasn’t certain which direction led to safe ground. “I’m listening,” he promised, feeling the weight of it. How many Trollhunters before him had given their great enemy that much? And was he wrong to give even that?

“I am not my people’s jailer,” Gunmar said. “And if your hesitance to free them is due to fear of me, then I shall remain in the Darklands. I ask only that you free the rest.”

“I’m not gonna let you die there alone!” Bular roared.

“Enough.” Gunmar placed his palm on Bular’s forehead, and the Dark Prince went rigid before all the tension seemed to drain out of him. “Go and rest, my son,” he murmured, close and quiet. “You will always know where to find me.”

Embers and ash rose up, engulfing Bular in a whirl that then scattered, empty, in an unfelt wind.

It was a strange revelation, Jim decided, feeling as hollow as the place where Bular had stood only a second ago. The troll king before him was by most accounts a legendary monster, had feasted on probably thousands of humans and trolls in his lifetime, and was both cunning and brutal enough to possibly threaten the world as they all knew it, if allowed to return. Driven by hunger, he may have been, but it was not what ruled him.

_You may be surprised, the lengths Gunmar will go for those he considers his._

He would watch his people walk back into a world of plenty and warmth, even as the weight of his crimes stayed his own feet. He would sooner be abandoned than abandon them.

_We just have to take care of each other._

“This is some trick,” Jim accused, even as he wiped his eyes. “You’re in my mind, making me feel this.”

But Gunmar was leaning down, his eye fascinated. “No,” he growled softly, his voice tinged with wonder, and Jim could feel the brush of that vast, alien mind against his own, like resting in a giant hand. The Underlord hovered close, examining some detail that he had not expected or hoped to find. Something small, fragile, and beautiful that he, in all his relentless might and hunger, had overlooked and trampled countless times. Something he had only begun to let himself see, many millennia too late. “That was all you, Jim...”

* * *

Jim woke up with tears in his eyes, just before his alarm rang. He rolled over, turned it off, and sat up, but couldn’t bring himself to stand just yet. Dawn illuminated his room through the window over his desk.

How many dawns in a century? 36,500? How strange for trolls to be so desperate to live in a world with a sun that would kill them near-instantly. It did not speak well of their alternatives.

Jim had wanted a clearer understanding of Gunmar. He got it, and it weighed heavier than he had ever imagined.

If it was a trick, he'd have to be prepared.

Jim went through his usual before-school rituals on auto-pilot. He ensured the Amulet was in his pocket, prepared his backpack, considered the remaining holes in his mental map of Trollhunter problems while he did a bit of light cleaning, noticed the blinds were shut, left them that way, and was deciding what to cook for breakfast when he heard another small alarm beeping quietly from the kitchen.

Bular filled the place, sitting slumped with his forehead resting in the open freezer. Mist poured out around him, the temperature warning setting a steady beat.

Jim cleared his throat, hoping to announce his presence gently.

Bular grunted in reply, but didn’t move.

“Strickler said we gave you a headache. Sorry about that,” Jim apologized. “I don’t know if our medicine would be poisonous for you, but maybe some water would help?”

Bular turned, and aside from the frost dusting his nose, brows, tusks, and lower lip, he was the very picture Jim imagined of a hungover troll. He gave the sink a dazed look, grumbled “Worth a shot,” and left the freezer open. He managed to cram his horned head sideways and partially into the sink, twisted the faucet on to its limits, and lapped at the falling stream with his grey tongue for a few confused seconds before he figured out how to maneuver the cool water directly into his open mouth.

Jim squeezed past him, silently lamenting the total absence of anything left but icecube trays in the freezer. He supposed he should be grateful that they were left at all. “You ate all the icecream?” he asked.

Bular paused from gulping water long enough to give him an exhausted “Mm-hm.”

Even the cartons. Not even the plastic or styrofoam trays from any of the packaged meat remained. “Toby eats when he’s stressed, too,” Jim said.

Bular rumbled; irritable, but too tired to be threatening. He kept swallowing through it, and the noise reminded Jim of some clips he had seen of cats growling at their food while they ate. He stifled a smile behind a hand, certain Bular would not find the comparison nearly as funny, and maneuvered the fridge door open just enough to retrieve eggs, crème fraîche, mushrooms, diced veggies, and cheese.

“Would you like an omelette?” he asked, mentally calculating how many eggs he might need and coming up with all of them.

Bular snorted, water exploding out of his sinuses, and tumbled into a wet coughing fit that splattered water all over the counter. He sat up and tried to glare over his shoulder while wiping his face with the back of an arm. “What - ” He coughed again. “ _What I want?_ Is that what you’re asking?” He turned, face dripping, his ember-eyes guarded in a way Jim had never seen from him before. Bular was always so certain in his dealings with others. "Don’t play stupid. If this is part of some weird plan to get me to regret eating fleshlings,” he warned, “it’s backfiring.”

“You can’t read me now, can you?” Jim realized, arranging his supplies on the kitchen bar.

Bular snorted defensively. “Tethering doesn’t scramble me so hard when I’m not guiding a bunch of flailing toddlers,” he snapped.

“I’m sorry about the pancake hat,” Jim said with a guilty half-smile. “And probably a bunch of other things I don’t remember...”

“Minor annoyances,” Bular waved it off. “I...” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m angry with my father, not you.”

“Don’t be sorry. And don’t be angry, either,” Jim said, cracking eggs into a large mixing bowl. “I’m not taking his deal.”

Static seemed to fill the air. Jim was not sure if the low, nauseated rumble came from Bular’s chest or his junk-and-junkfood-filled stomach.

He gave Bular a nod over his shoulder, jaw set. “I’m not leaving anyone in the Darklands. Just tell me when and where you need me. We'll get them all out of there.”

Silence reigned for a bit, broken only by the still-running sink and the steady beat of a whisk through eggs.

Bular shifted heavily behind him, and something big, hard, and cold brushed Jim’s upper back. Another backwards glance revealed Bular resting his forehead against him as lightly as he was able. “I would die for you, Jim Lake Junior,” he said quietly.

Jim huffed. “How about you tell me what you want on your omelette instead?”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the lovely comments! Some personal stuff has been happening, but it was wonderful to check in and get the energy back to write!
> 
> A'IGHT WHO'S READY FOR A GHOST STORY! *cue Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor*

Jim heard Bular’s footsteps descending into the basement at the same time that his own ascended to the upstairs. He paused, feeling like he could almost read an omen in the moment.

Jim had made sure to make an omelette for his mother, too. He adjusted his grip on the tray holding her breakfast and a glass of orange juice, and continued up the steps. If he held the tray tight enough, the plate did not rattle. Bular was just going somewhere dark to sleep off the rest of his headache, and Jim had a busy day ahead of him.

Barbara was sitting on the edge of her bed when Jim cracked open the door. It was like looking back in time at himself when he had woken up that morning. His mother’s gaze turned from memories of the dream and focused on him in the doorway. “Come in,” she said, scooting over.

Jim eyed the space she offered as he set her breakfast on the bedside table. School would start soon, he felt the urgency of it, but there was a lot more to life than school, after all. And he resolved then and there never to deny time to those moments that meant the most. If the worst were to happen, and it could happen soon, he would not have to count this among his regrets. He sat down next to her, and clasped his hands between his knees to hide how they shook. 

“Mom,” he started quietly, grasping for what to say. What could he say after pulling her into this? Apologies didn’t cut it, and after he thought about it, she was probably safer knowing, anyway. It still stung him that he could not keep her isolated and protected from the dangerous and uncertain world of Trolls, but such a world was not isolated from their own, after all. 

She watched him patiently, not rushing him. Her smile was as tired as he felt, but full of solidarity, and he realized she was the most resilient person he knew.

“...I don’t know why the Amulet chose me,” he admitted. “And I’m not sure I’m ready for this. I want to do the right thing - I don’t want to let anyone die when I can save them… But by all accounts I’ve heard so far, the Gumm-Gumms can be very dangerous. I mean, just look at Bular. And I had no idea what to expect from Gunmar, but it wasn’t that... I don’t know what they’ll do. I don’t know what’s going to happen. And if people get hurt or killed because I let them out…”

“Your intentions are good,” Barbara said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Jim shook his head, thinking of paved roads to Hell, despite his general dislike of the saying. “Good intentions aren’t enough,” he rephrased, leaning against her.

Barbara leaned her head against his. “But no effort is worthwhile without them.”

Jim looked up at her. “You think it’s a good idea?”

“I like the idea of these giant, scary, troll royals helping and protecting you,” she chuckled. “If they’re telling the truth, that is… But I’ve only just met them, and even if I had known them for years, I know how easy it can be to think you can trust someone.” She frowned, biting her lower lip as she thought. “I think this, if you go through with it, would have to be a leap of faith. And those are always scary, because you never know how far you might fall. I just hate the risk of you falling.”

Jim frowned, imagining a canyon so deep he couldn’t see the bottom of it. It was not a survivable drop. And Gunmar stood on the other side, coaxing Jim to try leaping the gap, with implications that he would catch him. Gunmar may or may not follow through, and Jim was not sure which would surprise him more. But Jim was tied to many others. Trollmarket. Arcadia. The world beyond. His mother. “I don’t want anyone else to fall, either.”

Barbara looked at him and smiled sadly. “I can’t blame you for wanting to help. And I can’t blame you for worrying about the consequences. Your heart is in the right place, and I will never count that against you, even in the event that theirs are not. No matter what happens, no matter what you decide, we’ll handle it together. I’m not going to let you carry this alone, Jim. I’m here for you.”

Jim nodded and gave her a hug. “I’m here for you, too, Mom… I don’t want any of this to hurt you. I wanted to be able to handle this myself. But I’m glad I told you.”

“Me, too, kiddo. You know you can always tell me anything.”

But anything he told her, Bular would be able to read from her, if he did not read it from Jim first. Jim wondered if even this conversation had revealed too much.

There were a couple of thumps from below in the basement, followed by what must have been Trollish curses, by their tone. Jim wondered if Bular had stumbled over something or if his abilities were starting to come back. And if the latter, whose thoughts was he reacting to?

“Oh. Uh, Bular is borrowing the basement for today, I think,” Jim said.

“Good,” Barbara huffed. “He’s welcome to it. I don’t want him to get any more of that sun-scarring.”

* * *

“Okay,” Toby leaned over his handlebars, dark circles under his eyes, when Jim opened the garage door. “Did we actually meet Gunmar in a dream, or am I just stressing?”

Jim handed Toby today’s bagged lunch and clipped his helmet on. “I’m pretty sure that first part is true, but I wouldn’t rule out stress, either.”

Toby squinted, angling his bike around as Jim cruised out onto the driveway and shut the garage door behind him. “Dude, how are you so chill?”

“I don’t think I am?” Jim held up a hand to demonstrate how it shook even as he tried his best to hold it still. He let out a breathless, humorless chuckle as both boys took off down the street on their bikes. “Gunmar could possibly just be pulling strings with his offer. But I felt his mind for a moment, Tobes, and I think we surprised each other. Like, strings or not, we have something in common.”

“What the hell do you have in common with Gunmar?” Toby asked, slightly horrified.

Jim frowned. “We’re both willing to do crazy things for those we consider ours.”

* * *

Lunch followed Gym class, so there was no need to rush. Toby and Jim lingered in the locker room, and waited for a few other stragglers to finish their business and hurry off before all the pizza was taken. But no one with a packed lunch had to suffer ‘chicken surprise’, no matter how late or long the lines grew.

A heavy, metal grate shrieked from the showers. There was a grumbled ‘Oof’ from Aarrrgh, and Blinky ran into the locker section, panting.

“Master Jim! I - ” He doubled over, one set of hands on his knees, the other on the bench between locker rows. “I would not insist if it were not an emergency, but you must come to Trollmarket at once!”

For a moment, Jim wondered how much Blinky knew, and wondered if he might throw up, even if he had been too anxious to eat breakfast. “What?” he asked in a small, far away voice.

“Soothscryer,” Aarrrgh called helpfully from the showers. Or rather, the sewer tunnel below them.

“I’m all for secret passages,” Toby muttered as Aarrrgh helped them all down. “But it’d be stellar if this one didn’t stink so bad. I don’t usually say this, especially when Jim’s cooking is involved, but I’m really glad I haven’t eaten lunch yet...”

* * *

A few minutes later, Strickler would receive an unsettling text report in his school office. Jim was walking through Trollmarket. And no one had even seen him approach the bridge. That could either mean the sewers or teleportation.

Right out from under his nose, too. The gall...

He stood up from his desk, locked the door, entered the hidden room behind his shelves, and made a mental note to line said hidden room with soundproofing foam at his earliest convenience.

Right after calling for a van to pick up Bular from the Lake residence, and finding a suitable substitute teacher for the week.

* * *

“I don’t need a tarp,” Bular grumbled, hunkered on all fours in the garage. It had been a trial and a half to squeeze through all the little doors, and the frames now had some telltale gouges in them, but to her credit, Barbara did not pay them any mind.

Most humans in his experience tended to have frivolous priorities, and Bular appreciated that Barbara was not one of them. She had a no-nonsense manner in accounting for what was needed in an emergency. It came with her profession, and the glimmer of a few personal crises in her history. 

And terror for whatever her son had gotten himself into this time, that too.

“As soon as the garage door opens, sunlight is going to pour in,” Barbara warned, shaking out a folded tarp. It rumpled and crinkled around her feet, large and laughably cumbersome as her tiny hands struggled to hold it up and sort it out.

Bular snorted. “It’s only direct light I need to worry about. Ambient light is next to harmless.”

“And if the van is too tall for the garage door?” Barbara argued.

“Then I’ll jump in quick through a sliver of light, and barely feel a thing,” he reassured. “Fussing with the tarp will just waste time. I don’t need to be pampered, I need to do my job.”

Yet still, it wasn’t frivolous. From a human, genuine concern about the sun hurting a troll went beyond bizarre. It practically broke the sound barrier as it soared to the highest realms of irony. But it was not her fault that none of her people remembered why.

Most trolls did not remember, either.

He could hear the low rumble of the van moving up the street. Barbara heard it, too, her eyes flicking to the garage door.

“When Walter called, he said going to this Trollmarket place is dangerous for Jim,” Barbara said, flipping a switch. The barely-reasonable-sized metal door began to grind its way open, and as it rose, they watched the van back into the driveway, close enough to kiss the garage door frame. “Why would he keep going back?”

As the electric door opened to its highest extent, the back of the van flew up with another dull roar of metal tracks that echoed through the garage. Nomura stood at her full, true height, her bright green eyes glowing in the pleasant dark of the van’s spacious cargo hold, which seemed to swallow all view of the outside.

Barbara gasped in astonishment, quietly taking it all in. Until now, her imagination had sort of uncomfortably settled on something like those nondescript white vans that had, due to their own non-descriptiveness, become an object of suspicion in popular culture. Bular would barely be able to squeeze into one of those if he folded up just right. All it would take to bust it open was a fit of claustrophobia or a good hard sneeze. He’d honestly be better off carrying one of those over his head, using it as an umbrella.

Fortunately, the Janus Order had far more sense, flair, and budget than that. 

As something of a cross between a moving van and an armored military truck, the Janus Order vans were only deployed when strictly necessary, and with the goal of stowing them from the public eye as swiftly as possible once a mission was completed. Sometimes sensitive equipment and artifacts had to be moved quickly and in bulk. Sometimes the vans could secretly be hired out to human groups (illicit or official) as part of a lucrative side-business. And in emergencies or time-sensitive missions, they served as taxis and getaways for the Dark Prince. They were an urban legend at best, and a whole sub-department of the Janus Order was devoted to keeping them that way.

Nomura gracefully bowed out of the way, leaving room for Bular to leap in, but the Dark Prince gave one last look to Barbara before doing so. “Because his heart’s in the right place,” he answered.

* * *

The Hero’s Forge was occupied when they arrived. Jim recognized the same group of four brawlers from the previous evening, lounging, pacing, and bickering with each other in Trollish with occasional glances at both him and the Soothscryer. He got the sense that perhaps their games today had been interrupted, but they seemed only curious. A few other Trollmarket citizens watched from the stands up high. Jim counted Vendel and Draal among them.

The Soothscryer really wasn’t that big compared to the rest of the Forge, but something about it seemed to fill the entire arena. And it was only slightly less intimidating the second time. Jim knew he’d get his hand back - he just had to quit thinking and do what he had to do. He resolved not to show any hesitation this time, and took a running start to jump, catch the ledge, and clamber up the platform. He was not sure when it happened, but on some level, he realized his hands had finally stopped shaking. It felt good, this little taste of cutting loose.

The stone eyes glowed, the world upended, and all went bright.

When Jim opened his eyes, he wore the armor, stood on the ground, and could make out details of the Forge in the dim lighting, though everyone else had gone.

“Hello?” Jim asked, turning, searching for some sign of life.

“You represent a lot of firsts,” an authoritative voice said from right behind him. Jim whirled and found himself looking up at the silver impression of a troll clad in familiar armor and wearing a nose-ring, his horns like that of a bull. “First human Trollhunter,” he said, pacing around Jim as if taking his measure. “First child Trollhunter. But you are not the first Trollhunter to hope for peace… or to consort with Gumm-Gumms.”

“Fair warning; no one will let you live it down,” another armored troll grumbled in the background, his arms folded across his chest. One of his horns was badly broken.

“For some definition of ‘live’,” another troll chuckled, stooped from age, and wearing his own fitted, silvery armor.

“You’re… Trollhunters?” Jim asked, grasping for something solid to latch onto in this starlit, ethereal realm. It was almost like being lucid in a dream all over again.

“Make no mistake, James Lake Junior,” the first said. “This duty follows all of us beyond death. It is forever binding.”

“I’m _dead?!_ ” Jim couldn’t help yelling. The indignity hit him hard. And he had charged in with such confidence, right in front of everyone! Draal wouldn’t even be able to drink his glug, he’d be laughing too hard. “That stupid Soothscryer killed me?!”

“You are not dead,” the first troll reassured. “The Soothscryer brought you here, to the Void, where Trollhunters receive the counsel of their predecessors.”

“So, _when_ I die, I’ll stay here, too?” Jim asked, unsure of how he felt about that idea.

“Presumably,” answered another Trollhunter, her helmet flanked by stylized metal wings. “But as a human, your case is unique. There is much we cannot say for certain.”

“But what we can say, is this...” The first troll leaned down. “Letting Gunmar out of the Darklands will end in catastrophe! You are young and naive, and Bular is a skilled manipulator, but you cannot afford the luxury of excuses! If you let Gunmar back into the world, he will make a graveyard of it!”

Jim consciously tried not to flinch, but failed. The force of this Trollhunter’s disapproval had its own, surprisingly heavy weight. “How do you know about that?” he asked.

“We have been waiting and watching, to see if you shall prove yourself. But your path is far more treacherous than any of us could have dared to imagine.” The former Trollhunter waved a hand, calling a vision out of mist. Jim saw himself standing in his kitchen, bowl in one hand, whisk in the other, absurd and earnest and looking a tired, wet, cold, and moody Bular in the eyes.

_“I’m not leaving anyone in the Darklands.”_

“We see all connected to the Amulet,” the old one said gently.

_“Good intentions aren’t enough.”_

_“But no effort is worthwhile without them.”_

_“I don’t want anyone else to fall, either.”_

Jim tried not to dwell on the lack of privacy. As if hanging out with a psychic wasn’t enough… It seemed he was doomed to go through this without any ability to keep secrets. But he also thought he saw an opportunity. “Can you see whether or not someone is lying to me?” he asked.

“No more than we normally could in life,” the first replied. “But if you are referring to Bular, we know well how he operates. Many of us were felled by his hand. I, most recently among them.”

“You’re Kanjigar the Courageous,” Jim realized.

Kanjigar nodded, then sidestepped and swept a hand toward the broken-horned troll. “Another name you should know is Tellad-Urr. Used by Gunmar to obtain weaponry for his rebellion against Orlagk, and slain by Bular when his use to them had run out.”

“By the swords I provided him,” Tellad-Urr added sourly. “Yes, those same ones with the jawbones. He has a taste for both iron and irony.”

“Oh, I like that,” noted the oldest looking Trollhunter among them. “Those concepts don’t sound the same in Trollish. Why don’t we use human languages more often among ourselves?”

“They’re whimsical,” a nasally-voiced one allowed. “But not very efficient.”

Jim frowned. Bular’s trustworthiness aside, another crucial problem remained. “Can you tell me about the Darklands?” he asked. “Is it really as bad as they say?”

The wing-helmeted troll stepped forward. “I did not banish them lightly,” Deya the Deliverer said. “It is true the Darklands are cold and barren, where little else but scavengers are left, and even they are slowly dying out. But Jim, Gunmar could not be defeated. He and his forces swept across the known world, and left only carnage and horror in their wake. I banished the Gumm-Gumms because that was the only way to stop them. And if you let them out, there _will_ be no stopping them. No mercy from them. No reasoning with them. They will outmaneuver and overpower you. And to believe you can outmaneuver them will be not just your doom, but the doom of the world.” She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Do not leap,” she said. “Or everyone will fall. There is nothing for you on the other side.”

“...Then how did _you_ outmaneuver Gunmar?” Jim asked. “Blinky said Gunmar didn’t realize your plan for Killahead Bridge before it happened. Is there a way to block them from reading your mind?”

“The armor,” Deya nodded. “For so long as you wear it. That is one of the primary purposes Merlin crafted it for. But you must listen to me. Gunmar may have Visited you in a dream, but so long as he has something to gain from your sympathy, he will not show you what he truly is...” 

She held up her hand, mist coalescing into a vision of a great battle in the dark. A towering stone bridge. The brutal sweeps of a cruel, curved sword - every strike as punishing as it was swift. Jarring to parry, even for a troll’s strong arms. Each rapid shock of it caused the Deya of the past to recoil, and scramble to barely divert the next blow. Jim flinched, but did not look away. Gunmar dwarfed even Deya herself, a titan of living shadow, his icy blue eye locked on his target, relentlessly claiming ground. All snarling jaws and the merciless drive to turn her and everyone she knew into corpses. 

There was no weariness. Gunmar was inexhaustible, and when he roared, Jim could feel the vibrations of it through the floor of the Forge. Something echoed underneath, just barely, as if it were fighting to become true sound, past some protective barrier.

Jim felt pinpricks along his arms and down his spine, like the fine hairs along his skin were fighting to stand up under his armor. He thought he could hear voices.

Thousands of voices. All screaming.

“If you begin to hear those screams, don your armor immediately,” Deya warned, clenching her fist and dismissing the vision in a swirl of silvery blue. “It is the only known thing that can shut them out, and save your life. Plugging your ears will not work. Even the deaf succumb to this.”

“Who are they?” Jim demanded, horrified.

“I suspect his past victims, but I don’t really know,” Deya admitted. “Whoever they were, they died in agony and grief, and any who hear the full force of those screams suffer the experiences of many deaths.”

“At least on a psychic level,” the nasally-voiced troll added. “Some, it kills on the spot. Some have survived, but the trauma forever changed them.”

Jim’s hands were shaking again. He clenched his fists to try and stop it, but it didn’t work. His armor rattled slightly. Strickler’s words came back to him, and Jim’s vision blurred as his eyes started to sting.

 _They do not so much sense others’ thoughts as_ experience _them. Their abilities grant them a serious edge, but come with a price._

“Oh my God.” Jim braced his hands on his knees, trying not to throw up. “Oh my God...”

_...in his own youth, it had taken him ages to eventually learn how to distinguish between himself and others._

Jim pressed a gloved hand to his mouth and consciously breathed through his nose, trying not to gasp. A few tears left hot streaks down his face. What does that do to a person, to bear so much death? To have died thousands of times...

Gunmar had been born in the midst of war.

What else could drive an empath to inflict so much grief, but grief itself?


	11. Chapter 11

Trollmarket was developing a knack for shaking the Janus Order up like a Dwarkstone. 

From the moment Bular and his entourage entered from the underground garage, everyone at Headquarters had been in non-stop motion. Stricklander was already at his station, throwing-blades bristling around his collar, watching the live feeds with keen eyes while simultaneously analyzing optimal locations to rally a strike-team in case a raid on Trollmarket became necessary.

Now it was just a bunch of insufferable waiting to see whether a raid was needed after all. Bular was not a stress-eater, but he saw the appeal. Perhaps if his stomach had a better temperament, he would have been.

Jim had vanished into the Soothscryer, and it was hard to think of a worse thing for him to have done. The past Trollhunters were either chewing him out, or unraveling all their plans, or both. Right after Jim had promised to let his father and his tribes free, too… 

Eating somebody sounded like such a reasonable idea right now. Bular side-eyed Norura’s elegant human form, and figured he could probably muscle her down whole. His mouth watered and his stomach growled, just imagining it. But she was every bit as angry as he was right now, trying to mentally prepare herself for the quickest route to Trollmarket, and then the Hero’s Forge, the instant the order was given to extract Jim. 

Say what you will about Impures. Even if they were not all reliable, at least they were reliably goal-oriented. And aside from a few carefully calculated backup plans in case her station was threatened by the ever-shifting politics of Janus Order life, Nomura’s focus was refreshingly right where Bular wanted it. He couldn’t help but like that about her.

Maybe he would ask her to spar with him instead.

On the live feed, Draal paced near the Soothscryer, anxiousness clear on his face, and Bular reflexively looked away, trying to zone out from _Insight_. He growled impatiently at himself, causing a few Impures to jump, but they quickly resumed their own thoughts and plans when they realized he was not upset with them.

He was being ridiculous, he knew. _Insight_ could not hurt him over the humans’ technology. But he knew he could not handle Draal’s mind right now. Not when he was so close to regaining his own father.

Someone else’s eyes followed Draal. At a little pang of regret from Nomura, Bular growled again and disengaged from _Insight_ entirely. Humans had a lot of dumb sayings in their myriad languages. Ignorance, he knew all too well, was not bliss. Sometimes it was just the only tolerable option.

* * *

As Jim let the awful revelation sink in, as he dried his eyes and took deep breaths, as he tried to clear his mind and focus on what he could do, he noticed something.

“It is not too late,” Kanjigar said. “We summoned you here to head this disaster off before it could happen. Keep the Amulet safe, and you will not need to worry about unleashing that monster on the world. I know your intentions are good, but you cannot save everyone, and to be a Trollhunter is to make sacrifices.”

The Trollhunters of the past could watch what happened to him through the Amulet. But they could not read his mind, and did not seem to have the same terrible understanding he had only just gained.

Even if they knew, he doubted it made any difference. It made some sense of Gunmar’s actions in perpetuating an ancient war, but it did not justify them.

A problem for another time. A massive one. But he had more immediate concerns. Jim tried to focus on what the past Trollhunters wanted. Keep the Amulet safe. That was Trollmarket’s priority, and with compelling reason.

But how could they expect Jim to do that when Bular knew where he lived? Or could possibly hold Jim’s mother hostage? From Bular’s perspective, to do so could not be all that different from what Jim would be doing if he refused to release Gunmar.

Though infiltrated by changeling spies, Trollmarket would still be the safest place to stay. But the upcoming honor duel…

Jim’s blood chilled. Given his relative frailty, and the conditions of the duel, how could they reasonably expect Jim to keep the Amulet safe?

Draal could not opt to banish him, because then Jim, and the Amulet, would be all the easier for Bular to reach. That left killing Jim, which would pass the Amulet on. Most likely to a stronger, more resilient, harder-for-Bular-to-reach troll champion.

Strategically, the best thing Jim could do for Trollmarket was die, and make way for a worthier champion. And no one even had to make his death look like an accident, because it would happen soon enough anyway.

He had once referred to Trollhunter business as ‘chess club’. He had not realized at the time that he was a pawn.

But to be a Trollhunter was to make sacrifices.

And maybe there was a way to use that? If he wanted to survive, now that he realized the danger he was in, he had to play it from their angle. Speak half-truths. Highlight others’ motives, but in ways that served his own. Try to see through their eyes and reach them. Practice the lessons his dark mentors had taught him so far.

Fight like a Gumm-Gumm.

“Draal will keep the Amulet safe,” Jim said, drying his eyes once more.

Kanjigar looked like he had been slapped. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

“Trollmarket is the safest place for the Amulet, right?” Jim asked. “It’s the hardest place for Bular to reach right now. So I can’t just avoid the duel, or I will be banished. And Draal has already proven how easily he can beat me.” Outlining what he already knew out loud also served to ground him, and he could feel himself start to fit into the role, like acting on stage. “In all likelihood, I will be dead within the week. But that’s the point. The Amulet will gain a new champion, one better able to keep everyone safe. Draal knows it’s the smart move - only by making it about honor, he doesn’t have to feel as bad about doing what must be done.”

“No, Jim! You're _so_ _wrong!_ ” Kanjigar shot back, and if he had hackles under his armor, it was easy to imagine them standing. But underneath the outrage was something horrified and wounded, and Jim worried that he might have badly miscalculated. “ _Talk_ to Draal! You don’t know him, he - Draal can put aside his pride, this is far more important than any honor duel!”

“Of course it is?” Jim said cautiously. He thought he had made that clear. “It was never really about honor to begin with. He may not have been chosen, but he’s still looking out for Trollmarket, trying to do what’s best for them. I can’t fault that.”

“Killing you is _not what’s best!_ He does not think like that!” Kanjigar shouted. “He’s not conniving, like Bular!”

Deya rested a hand on Kanjigar’s shoulder, steadying him. “No citizen of Trollmarket is to harm a human,” she told Jim with finality. “That’s not who we are. Never again. Remind them of that.”

“I don’t believe Draal really wants to hurt me,” Jim reassured. “I think he just recognizes the need. It’s not personal, but my own weakness leaves everyone in danger.”

“Jim, you are not an obstacle,” Kanjigar insisted. “We don’t want you dead! The Amulet chose you for a reason!”

Jim wondered what reason the Amulet had chosen Unkar or Tellad-Urr for, but he was not careless enough to ask. “If it has a plan for me, I don’t see it yet,” he said instead. “In the meantime, I will have to make my own plans, based on what’s best for everyone. I might be worthy of my station in that, at least.”

The whole Void seemed to be holding its breath.

Jim could not even laugh at the parallel that emerged in his mind. “The future hinges on sons who would kill to see their fathers again… So I’m going to have to play along with Bular for a while. Otherwise, he may try to have Draal murdered before the duel. But on the plus side of all this,” Jim allowed, looking to Kanjigar, “if Draal becomes the next Trollhunter, he’ll be able to see you again here.” 

“He would see _you_ here, too,” the old one said, his eyes full of pain. “Draal is not a monster, Jim. Don’t let him make this mistake, he will regret it forever. Once his temper cools, he will see that you only needed help...”

Despite his efforts, Jim could feel his face screwing up. Another tear flew down his cheek. He swallowed to try and stop his throat from tightening up again. If that fate came to pass, it would never stop hurting. And it would be his fault for allowing it.

But how could he back out now? What other plan did he have? “What else can I do?” he asked.

Kanjigar knelt, his massive hands engulfing Jim’s shoulders, impossibly gentle. “Tell Draal the truth,” Kanjigar pleaded, “and he will not kill you.”

What would the truth do to Draal? Jim remembered his swift reaction when caught off guard in the pub. Head on, and backed up with tons of force. A loose canon. Bitter about the Amulet, and grieving for his father, Draal had needed an outlet, and recklessly made one of Jim. Telling him the truth might shift his focus to Bular, and one of them could die in the ensuing fight.

“I can’t,” Jim said. “You’re right, I don’t know him. But I’ve seen enough to know that if I tell him, it might get him killed. I can’t do that.” Jim bowed his head, unable to shoulder the heartbreak in Kanjigar’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I need to go prepare.”

“We will be here, Jim,” Kanjigar said, his words fading into distance as everything began to glow. “You’re not alone. We’ll figure this out.”

Jim could feel himself materializing into the physical realm. There was a sensation like the tingling heat of a battery through his cells, and the slightly nauseating lurch of an elevator, but from every direction at once. He was surrounded by towering trolls. No one seemed to be where they were before, and it looked like a small crowd had gathered and was slowly growing.

Their attention snapped to him as he landed softly where the Soothscryer had been, still clad in his armor. On reflex, he turned to check if they were looking at someone behind him, and found himself face to massive blue chest with Draal.

Draal’s eyes were wide, searching along Jim’s face and armor as if trying to read what had happened in the Void right off him. His mouth was slightly parted, stalled as if he could not quite bring himself to ask for what he wanted.

The smile Jim tried on felt tired. Too sad to reach his eyes. “Hello, Draal,” he said. “Your father recommended that I speak with you.”

Suspicion warred with longing on his face. Draal gave a snort and a sharp jerk of his horns in a ‘this way’ gesture. Jim followed him.

“Jim!” Toby called, running toward him through the crowd of larger bodies. “Jim, what happened? Are you okay? You vanished and Blinky told me you went to see ghosts! What did the ghosts say?”

Draal did not care for his father being referred to as a ‘ghost’, if the clenched fists and low growl were any indication.

“I’ll tell you in a bit, Tobes,” Jim said, patting his friend on the shoulder. “Stick close to Blinky and Aarrrgh, I’ll be back soon.”

Toby’s gaze flicked between Jim and Draal. “Excuse me, you think you’re letting Loudmouth McPunch here drag you off to some undisclosed location without backup?”

“If I were that small and soft,” Draal said, “I would not consider such disrespect a survival advantage.”

“That’s cause I’m braver than you’d be,” Toby sniped back easily. “Know what else ain’t a survival advantage?” Toby leaned toward Jim and raised his voice for emphasis. “Being alone with the guy who admitted he wants to kill you!” 

“Tobes, challenging people to death-matches is my thing,” Jim said pointedly. “Go get your own thing.”

“This happens often?” Draal huffed, eying Jim.

“No, it’s just the second craziest thing I’ve done so far, and what I’ll be remembered for if I’m really lucky,” Jim admitted, soothing a developing headache and absently hoping that Bular was feeling better now. Draal’s eyes had gone wide again, darting as he tried to sort out what to do with that information. Jim thought he could begin to identify that as Draal’s ‘Fleshbags Are Crazy’ look. “Anyway. Seriously, Tobes. I’ll be fine. I may have challenged Draal’s honor, but I know it’s important to him.”

“Are you rescinding your challenge?” Draal asked.

“Not if it gets me banished,” Jim shrugged, apologetic. “But I trust that you won’t kill me before the duel.”

“So you’re actually going to face me.” Draal raised one brow, grudgingly impressed. “You really do have gronk-nuks.”

Jim blinked, puzzled and second-guessing his mental map of the situation. It was probably just a backhanded compliment, but he’d have to readjust quickly if he was wrong. “Wait, are you surprised?” he asked. “Did you want me to run?”

Draal snorted. “I just didn’t think you had it in you.”

Jim and Toby shared a look. “I got this, Tobes, trust me,” Jim said. “Go with Aarrrgh and Blinky. I’ll catch up.”

Toby reluctantly obeyed, and Jim followed Draal up to a remote and empty section of the stands above the arena. The shadow of what might have been a trollish figure moved in the corner of Jim’s eye, but when he looked, he could not see anyone there.

Draal did not bother taking a seat. He leaned back against the wall, arms folded over his chest, and gave Jim a guarded look. “So. What did my father say?”

“He knows what’s really happening, and he wants me to tell you,” Jim admitted. “But I think you already know.”

“And what do I already know?” Draal asked.

“That I am a liability.” Jim swallowed and had to look away for a moment. It really sucked saying that out loud. “I can never match a troll in terms of speed or strength, and I’m too easy to kill. As long as I live, the Amulet is delayed in choosing a stronger champion.”

Draal leaned forward, something hard and intense in his eyes.

“I’m scared to die, Draal,” Jim admitted, forcing a laugh to try and hide the shaking in his voice. “But I see why it’s for the best. I understand.”

Draal shoved away from the wall and towered over Jim. “There is no way my father said that to you!” he snarled.

Jim tensed up, and tried to force himself to relax. Draal was closer than he would like, but he was not threatening him. “No, he’s far better than that. He’s good, and honorable, and he cares. He wants me to try, but the fact is, getting me out of the way is the surest way to keep everyone safe. Even I can see that.”

“Is this…?” Draal’s voice faded in disbelief, and he had to try again. “Is this why you challenged me?”

“If I stay down and live, I’m still in the way,” Jim explained. “And if it turns out that I can’t do the right thing, someone has to. I can get out of the way for that. Just. Don’t tell my mother what happens to me. But, please look out for her?”

Draal stared at him. Then he turned toward the ledge overlooking the arena, and paused. He looked back at Jim, took a breath as if to say something, and seemed to think better of it. He tucked into a rolling blur of blue spikes, speeding down the side of the arena in a smooth arc along the walls, and angling for the exit.

Jim let out a breath he had not realized he had been holding. Perhaps now he would not simply be an obstacle in Draal’s mind? And if Draal knew of a good way to nullify the challenge from his end, perhaps he would now want to use it? If Jim had played his cards right, and actually reached Draal, that was one less problem to deal with.

And if that did not work…

“I’m keeping my promise,” Jim said for the figure’s benefit as he watched Draal cross the natural bridge out of the Hero’s Forge. “And I’m not going to die if I can help it. Just thought I could relay my report quickly in private, and see what strings I can pull.”

“Thought you were a human kid. What _was that?_ ” the troll (or possible changeling) behind him asked. There was a little wire traveling from one of his pointed ears, disappearing somewhere into his vest. Jim could not see a camera or microphone, but he could imagine Bular, Strickler, and any number of their other top brass watching and listening in.

Jim shrugged innocently. “Practice.”

There was a pause, and the troll shuffled closer, lowering his voice. “Stricklander says to tell you that if you ever scare him like that again, he’s gonna get you grounded for life.”

Jim briefly tried once more to locate a camera. “So I passed my pop quiz?” he winked. Then he held out a hand to the troll. “I’m Jim, by the way.”

“Krax.” The troll gripped his hand carefully. “Never shook a Trollhunter’s hand before.”

Jim nodded reasonably. “It’s a day for firsts.”

* * *

Bular and Stricklander did not often agree. And even when they did, they often found some detail or other to squabble over. It was not a neat and tidy partnership, but both could (grudgingly) agree that it served brilliantly for working out thorough analyses of complex situations in a short, if vexing and sometimes loud, timespan. But today was historic in that they had agreed completely on five things:

  1. They needed to increase patrols around the sewers, especially near the highschool. A little scouting had revealed tracks.
  2. The Soothscryer was about to ruin everything and set it all on fire for good measure.
  3. Jim looked far too calm after leaving it, and that could mean anything.
  4. Tobias Domzalski needed an honorary promotion, pronto. And,
  5. Jim Lake Junior, reluctant Trollhunter, caring friend, loving son, and aspiring chef extraordinaire who prepared the most excellent Sorry-For-Giving-You-A-Tethering-Headache omelettes… was unanimously voted Most Likely to Actually be a Changeling.



Bular could confirm for a fact that Jim was completely human. He had seen Jim’s completely human mind. But the Dark Prince _still_ had to wonder if he had missed something.

Perhaps it was just that natural, human deviousness at work. It was always fun to watch the Impures use it in their masters’ favor, but to see a fleshling freely do so? Delicious.

“Heh. Cheeky little rat-goblin,” Bular marveled, arms folded and head tilted contemplatively as he watched the wall of screens. He threw a glance at Stricklander. “Does he learn this fast at your school?”

Stricklander was slumped at his station before the screens, clinging to a steaming paper cup of black eye. His other hand propped him up by his forehead, and his shoulders were stiff as if still bracing for a blow or preparing to summon his wings. Bular grimaced through an empathic flare of nausea and worry, but did not disengage from _Insight_ this time.

“Stop moping,” he scolded. “So he’s picked up a few party tricks? We can handle that.”

“He’s either too clever,” Stricklander muttered, long fingers rubbing his temple. “Or just thinks he is. This is not a game...”

_This is practice._

Bular rumbled, running his tongue along his teeth as he interposed Stricklander’s memory over the conversation he had just witnessed. Playing with Trollish hearts and minds was risky enough for a Troll. Depending on what Jim planned, he could get himself killed in an ironic accident. “I laid the talk of peace on a little too thick,” he realized. He was still kind of proud of those little speeches, and had not expected them to bite him on the tail...

“No,” Stricklander waved his hand as if half-heartedly swatting that idea. He sat up and slowly spun in his rolling chair to face Bular. “It’s his very foundation in all this. But he won’t let go of it easily.”

Nomura snickered, and Bular was treated to the mental image of the smug ‘threats will not work’ cat-surrounded-by-knives meme. But photoshopped to wear a little blue jacket, too.

* * *

“What on Earth?” Vendel thumped the butt of his staff into the ground as he entered the lower general library, frowning at the mess. “We have a system for this, Draal!”

Draal tossed yet another volume on Troll Law aside with a snarl, and skimmed the book spines on the next shelf. “A challenge from a fleshbag doesn’t count, right?” Draal asked, flipping through a new volume. “He’s not part of the colony, he doesn’t live here, so technically - ”

“Fleshbag or not, he is the Trollhunter,” Vendel sighed. “His decisions have an effect on the colony, and if he decided to challenge you - ”

“No, no, what about… Hah! _Here_ it is!” Draal all but punched the open page with his index finger. “Volume 50, Article 87, Section 2 says - ”

Vendel attempted to soothe an oncoming headache. “You think he was drunk? What manner of glug do you imagine a fleshbag could survive drinking?” he demanded.

Some of Draal’s victorious grin wavered. “It counts for Grit-Shakas, too,” he said a little defensively. “And what about fleshbag curses or substances?”

“Has it occurred to you that a fleshbag might not know our customs?” Vendel asked. “You could have simply rejected his challenge without penalty on those grounds, you don’t need for him to have been drunk.”

Draal growled, his feet shuffling reluctantly, and glared at the book in his hand. “...And if he knew what he was doing?”

“Then he knew,” Vendel said, squinting a little. “What is this really about?”

Draal didn’t seem to be listening, his eyes darting after possibilities. “The Pact!” Struck by inspiration, if Draal had not already been standing, he would have leapt to his feet. “We’re not allowed to harm humans, so - ”

“That does not preclude self-defense,” Vendel said impatiently. “Or matters of honor. And once again, he is the Trollhunter. Why did you accept his challenge if you’re so desperate for excuses to get out of it?”

“Because there will be no glory in it!” Draal shouted. “It’s not going to be a duel, Vendel! He - a child! - knowingly signed himself up for execution!”

Vendel gave him a look that passed somewhere between pity and pain. “Draal. The duel _is_ an execution. Originally, anyway. But I have good news. If you don’t want to kill him, just banish - ”

“Bular is out there,” Draal snapped, pointing at the ceiling. “What hope does a fleshbag have of defeating him? At keeping _himself_ safe, much less us? I can’t just leave him to our enemies!” Draal huffed through his nose, his free hand curling into a fist. “The fleshbag - Jim,” he corrected himself, “knows it, too. Tactically, passing on the Amulet is the smartest move. And he’s willing to do it. It matters that much to him. He may not have the power of a proper Trollhunter, but he…” Draal growled, dropping his fist heavily on the reading table next to him. “I wanted to hate him. Now, I just hate that he’s right.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your wonderful comments, and your patience during the hiatus!

“What did the Elder Trollhunters say?” Blinky asked.

Jim expected the question. He had been dreading it all the way downstairs to the arena floor, where Blinky, Aarrrgghh, and Toby waited for him, and he had reached the bottom before he could decide what to say. He wanted more time to think, but as tempting as it was to sit alone in the stands and try to sort everything out, he knew he’d spend all day there, and his friends would notice Draal’s exit, and he could not afford to kid himself.

His friends… Would he still count as their friend if he lied to them?

Toby would want to know all the details, and so would Blinky and Aarrrgghh. But Strickler and Bular would be listening in, too. Krax had left to blend in, but Jim knew he and possibly others would stick close. He had to be careful. What he said to one person here, he’d be saying to everyone.

Repeating what he had told Draal was out of the question. Toby would go Vesuvius, and Blinky…? Losing another student would be demoralizing, to say the least. Telling them the truth was not much better. Word would reach Draal and possibly throw Jim right back to square one, but with even more personal feelings this time.

But he could start from _a_ truth.

“They expressed their concerns,” Jim said, hoping he had not deliberated too long. “They weren’t expecting a human to be chosen, either, and wanted to make sure I understand what we’re up against.” He frowned. “But there’s still something I don’t get.”

“Something we can answer, perhaps?” Blinky offered. He watched and waited patiently as Jim tried to form his question.

“You mentioned that Gunmar has been trying to escape the Darklands for centuries,” Jim said carefully. “From the sound of it, I don’t think I can blame him for that part…?”

Blinky huffed. “Of course not, it’s a wasteland! But don’t forget - it’s what he did on the Surface that condemned him.”

Jim nodded. “It’s not just him, though, is it? Everyone who followed him - do they all deserve to die there?”

Blinky and Aarrrgghh shared a glance, and Aarrrgghh rumbled softly, a troubled look on his face. “Gumm-Gumms ate humans,” he said. “Humans not deserve that.”

“Hell of a point,” Toby muttered, elbowing Jim in the side, and Jim nodded. He had not missed how Bular had diverted their attention toward the banishment, rather than properly address the awful rumor of traditional Gumm-Gumm diets, and whether or not they intended to continue those traditions.

Jim swallowed uneasily, uncertain of how to ask his next question gently. “But… didn’t everybody, back then? I thought the Pact came centuries after Killahead.”

Blinky looked like he had to remind himself to breathe after a beat. “An unfortunate truth,” he confessed. One of his six eyes narrowed briefly, as if puzzled by a stray thought. “Crimes of opportunity, desperation, and ignorance... But Jim, no one made a sport of it like the Gumm-Gumms. They gorged themselves on your folk. Gunmar himself ate them as if he could never get enough. He looks on the human race with a hatred the likes of which you cannot fathom, and he instills that hatred in all who follow him.”

“Like, psychically?” Toby asked. “Just clarifying.”

“Rituals,” Aarrrgghh said quietly.

Blinky rested two comforting hands on Aarrrgghh’s forearm. “We don’t have to talk about - ”

“Am okay. Need to know,” Aarrrgghh reassured, giving Blinky a grateful smile. The smile faded as he met Jim’s eyes. “Gunmar shared visions. Why defeating humans important. Said this world belong to trolls, and sun kills trolls because humans cursed it.”

“An unlikely theory,” Blinky added. “Mere propaganda. Gunmar had no evidence beyond these so-called visions, which he could easily have fabricated.”

“Doesn’t matter if true or not,” Aarrrgghh insisted. “Trolls still choose what trolls do. Can’t fix pain with more pain. Can’t stop hate with hate.”

Something in Aarrrgghh’s tone put a weight in Jim’s chest. “You’re speaking from experience?”

Aarrrgghh nodded. “Was Gumm-Gumm General,” he said. “Led troops. Was loyal. Thought I did good, for trolls.” Something dark crossed behind his eyes, and he closed them. “Lotta humans hurt. Tried to save each other. Not evil. Just scared, sad, in pain... Gunmar knew. Killed them anyway. I had to stop.”

“Aarrrgghh switched sides before the Battle of Killahead,” Blinky interjected, taking a step forward as if shielding his partner. “Losing him was a devastating blow to Gunmar’s forces. Aarrrgghh is a formidable strategist, and without his contribution to our side, Gunmar would likely have claimed all the Surface long ago.”

Aarrrgghh looked caught between fondness for Blinky, and a kind of uncomfortable disapproval of his defense. “Biased,” he grumbled. “And doesn’t execute.”

“Excuse,” Blinky automatically clarified, and then blinked in startled offense before rounding on his companion. “It’s not an excuse, or a - a dismissal, it’s a fact!” he insisted. “Great Gorgus, Aarrrgghh, do you truly think so little of your role in all that mess? Gunmar would have wiped Dwoza off the map without your aid! And Camelot along with it!”

“Woah, Camelot?” Toby asked.

“Biased,” Aarrrgghh repeated flatly.

“Well, I’ll not apologize for that!” Blinky declared, all four arms akimbo. “And even so, you still give yourself far too little credit.”

“Have bad credit, too,” Aarrrgghh pointed out with a kind of stubborn yet steady empiricism. “Ate humans. I hate that.” He shrugged his massive shoulders, but something about the line of his mouth was a little too stiff and tight to come across as casual. “Always hate that. But true. Hurts, but hurt humans worse. Not need pity, Blinky. Just not hide from truth.”

“You can still tell the truth without emphasizing the worst aspects,” Blinky argued.

Aarrrgghh tilted his head as if cautiously conceding half a point. “Mm. Can’t find right English words. Talk more later.” When he looked Jim in the eyes, Jim thought he could begin to grasp how very old Aarrrgghh was. “Jim ask: All Gumm-Gumms deserve to die? What Jim think?”

“What if there are more like you?” Jim countered, feeling like he was treading on unsteady ground. “Others who want peace? Is there really no hope for that?”

Aarrrgghh’s eyes flicked to the Amulet still on Jim’s chest. “Good heart,” he said. “Like all Chosen. Want to see the best, want to help.” He leaned down a little on his fists, carefully, as if expecting Jim to flinch. “I know Gumm-Gumms, Jim. They would eat your good heart and laugh.” He shook his head. “Deserve to die? Dunno. But they don’t deserve your pity.”

+++++

Jim was not sure if he could call it Hooky if he had spent the latter half of the school day studying… albeit, the subject of individual combat. Under the circumstances, human schooling seemed a comparatively minor and distant worry.

Blinky seemed glad for the chance to catch him up a little on the basics of combat, and Jim was glad for the opportunity to focus on something immediate and physical for a change, where he had to stop thinking and act. In that, the exercise was such a relief, he didn’t even mind the small audience of trolls that sometimes hollered their input or cracked a joke from the sidelines, to Blinky’s occasional annoyance.

The final bell of the day had been about to ring when they emerged back in the locker room. After training hard in the Forge and walking through the sewers, they took the time to use the showers. “Cutting it a little close there, weren’t you?” Toby asked, fully dressed again, and toweling as much of the dampness as he could get out of his hair.

Jim straightened his jacket and smoothed his wet bangs back so they wouldn’t get in his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. Even just the effort to lift his arm came with a dull burn. “Blinky’s a hardcore trainer.” In that light, Jim did not entirely look forward to what Bular’s lessons might entail.

Toby gave him a look. “Come on, Jim, you can’t deflect me like that.”

Jim glanced at the shower-room drain meaningfully as he slung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the exit with Toby. “I wanted to test the waters a little,” he admitted. “See how open they were to the idea.”

“Have you thought of just telling them the truth?” Toby whispered.

“I think we got a clear enough idea of their stance,” Jim said. “But then again they keep surprising me. The more I learn about their world, the more impossibly huge it seems.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t have figured Aarrrgghh for an ex-Gumm-Gumm,” Toby marveled. “He seemed pretty sure about their attitude toward humans. And hey, speaking of attitude, what was up with Draal? He left in a hurry.”

Jim groaned as he pushed the locker room door open. Between everything else he had learned today, he had almost forgotten about his most immediate threat. “I, uh. I have an idea of how to maybe get him to back off. If it works, maybe I won’t need to be banished.”

“Yeah?” Toby prompted.

“It sounds really bad, Tobes, but I swear it’s not my actual plan.”

“I’m listening.”

Jim gnawed on his lower lip for a moment. “I basically told him I’m not gonna fight back at the duel.”

Toby frowned. “So he’ll either kill or banish you? I think I’m missing something.”

“Preferably kill, so I can pass the Amulet to a stronger champion.” Jim clarified in a rush when Toby stopped in his tracks. “I just followed what I think he thinks to its natural conclusion. And putting it that way, and accepting my fate, looked like it really bothered him. Like he couldn’t pretend I’m just some mouthy thief anymore. And wondering what his father would think of it all probably doesn’t make him feel any better. So he’s either gotta chew on that for the rest of the week - in which case, I’ll need a backup plan - or help find some way to nullify the challenge.”

“...Your plan kind of counts on him having feelings or a conscience to begin with,” Toby criticized, tapping his chin.

Jim sighed. “Of course he has feelings, Tobes. He’s not evil, he’s just hurt.”

“Yeah, see, he’s acting like that gives him a reason to hurt you, when you didn’t even do anything to him, and he looked like he was having far too much fun using a sparring match as an excuse to whup your ass, and excuse me if I’m just not reacting well to that kind of thing?”

Jim’s smile felt a little perplexed. “And I am?”

Toby huffed, almost a laugh. “Nah, not if you’re taking weird, twisted gambles like that. I mean if he wasn’t awful to you, I might’ve felt bad for him.” He squinted as something occurred to him. “You know that kind of trick isn’t going to work on Bular or Gunmar.”

“I know,” Jim said quietly. They walked in an uneasy silence until they reached the bike racks, and the courtyard was mostly empty by then, with only a few distant stragglers and those who were heading to after-school clubs. “Speaking of Gunmar, there’s something you should probably know,” he whispered as they clipped their helmets on. “Deya the Deliverer spoke to me in the Soothscryer, and she showed me her fight with Gunmar.” He paused, wondering whether or not the chill on his skin was just the remnants of his shower. “Tobes, I honestly don’t know what good it is to even say it. But if I don’t tell you...”

Toby raised his brows. “Well if you don’t tell me, I’ll die of curiosity.”

“Gunmar can… project death,” Jim said, trying to figure out a better way to put it. “Like, imagine feeling the last moments of a lot of people at once. And it’s so painful and inescapable, it might kill you, too. The Armor saved Deya from it, but I think finding other gear that can protect people - you know, if it exists, just in case - should be high in our priorities.” 

“No shit,” Toby whispered, white-knuckling a handlebar. “Holy crap. Any idea where these… death-experiences came from?”

Jim nodded. “Deya said she thinks they’re his past victims, but I don’t think that adds up. Sure, maybe it’s a message - ‘This is what happens to those that defy me’, that kinda thing. But I suspect it’s really about vengeance. Why else would he hate humans so much? I think they were trolls killed by humans in the war that made him.”

Toby’s green eyes had gone wide and stunned, staring into the middle-distance. “Wait, how can he even do that without… _feeling_ what...” He sat down. “What kind of pain-tolerance does that take?”

“He didn’t tolerate it,” Jim said. “He went to war.” He took a deep breath, feeling like they were both suspended for a moment, weirdly separate from the nearby traffic, construction, and scattered conversations over study-group plans and the latest movies. Jim wondered if they would ever truly feel like part of their own world again, and whether or not to do so would only be a comfortable illusion. He thought of Mr. Strickler, and wondered if this awful, unseen separation was just normal for changelings.

“I can’t imagine Bular’s gonna be happy that we know about it now,” Toby noted from the ground after a minute of processing.

Jim leaned over to unlock his bike, and held out a hand to help Toby up. “Our knowing aside, I’m sure he’s been very unhappy about it for a long time.”

+++++

The elevator ride back down into the Janus Order’s underground garage was about as boring as always. Bular couldn’t help but notice, as he did each time, how much quicker the trips up and down would be if they removed the slow, stupid box itself and just climbed the shaft. Said stupid box, he had been told, had been custom-built to accommodate not only his stature, but that of his father’s, for their ‘dignity and ease of access’ throughout the base. What dignity was there in relying on a slow machine to bring him a distance he could easily leap?

“What if you get injured too badly to leap or climb?” some well-intentioned dimwit had once asked. Bular had offered to let them repeat their question if, and only if, they first stuck their entire skull in his jaws.

Any Impure unfortunate enough to be caught in the elevator with him usually had enough wits to keep silent and turn their thoughts to something constructive. But Bular still enjoyed their alarm whenever he rocked up on his toes and then let all his weight drop onto his heels. The elevator would shudder and sway, and sometimes he’d even earn a metallic groan from whatever apparatus controlled the cables, somewhere above.

The pristine grey doors finally parted to the dim light of the garage, and Bular almost tripped on someone on his way out. Usually, Impures were highly aware of their surroundings, and had decent enough reflexes to dodge out of his way. He could walk through a crowd of them and they’d part around him like an enchanted sea. But the _human_ who had found her way down here shrieked and hunkered, forcing Bular into a last-second, awkward, spinning side-hop to avoid tripping over her.

Bular stared down at her, aware through her own eyes how huge and bright his had gone, and how the dark seemed to magnify his presence. She stared back, with an even more impressive list of questions than his own.

Bular decided he wanted to go first anyway. “How did you get in here, Barbara?”

“I followed your truck?” she said, standing up. Accompanied by a mental image of her car parked in a nearby lot outside. “It disappeared somewhere behind the travel agency, but after looking around, I found a manhole that didn’t actually go to the sewers.”

“Suppose we should’ve just brought you over in the first place,” Bular grumbled. He intended to have that old passage crammed with goblins from now on. “Jim and Toby are safe,” he answered before she could ask. “They went back to the school, and should be on their way home soon.”

“What happened in Trollmarket?” Barbara pressed.

Bular shrugged, a little annoyed with her intent to test his word against the boys’. “Jim scared off a rival, and talked philosophy with his other mentors.”

Barbara’s eyes narrowed. “What does ‘rival’ mean in this context?”

“A warrior named Draal wants the Amulet.” Bular’s shrug felt a little more aggressive this time. “It’s not doing him a lot of good. The thing picks its own champions, regardless of what anyone else says. You don't just chase it, hoping it will pick you. Or, I guess you can, if that's how you want to annoy yourself.”

“So this rival isn’t someone you’ve been able to read?” Barbara guessed.

Bular sighed through his nose. “That was flippant of me. Let me correct myself,” he said, holding up a hand. “The previous Trollhunter was Draal’s father. He’s grieving. And grieving trolls aren’t… well, they’re rarely quiet about it. And Draal was never quiet to begin with.”

“Then how did Jim ‘scare him off’?” Barbara asked.

Bular glanced at the helpfully waiting elevator. The more it looked like he was hiding things, the more difficult these fleshbags would be to manage. And if they wanted to keep Jim from going back to Trollmarket, what better way than to show Barbara what transpired today? “Might as well show you.” He turned and thumped the metal summoning-pad with a fist. “And if you insist on thwarting our clearly-outdated security, we’ll get you a pass.”

On the slow ride up, Bular resisted the temptation to shake the elevator, but he still looked for some other way to fill the silence and ease the current of worried thoughts from Barbara. “Stricklander will be happy to see you,” he blurted.

Barbara snapped out of her thoughts. “Strickler? He goes by two different names?”

Bular nodded. “He wanted to shorten it. Something about making it not stand out as much. But Father likes how his name rolls off the tongue.” Sometimes even human names tasted good.

Stricklander, it turned out, was not entirely pleased to be caught by his human crush in his trollish form. To his credit, he didn’t yelp. He flipped over a technician's station in a flurry of limbs and wings (much to the alarm of the changeling technician), and hunkered out of sight on the other side. “Bular, that had better be a Glamour prank!” he called with an admirable amount of dignity and foreboding.

Caught between enjoying the spectacle, second-hand annoyance at the so-called prank, and irritation with Stricklander’s pathological inability to make things easier for himself, Bular’s patented ‘bastard grin’ morphed into an uncomfortable grimace. “Just change back if you’re so self-conscious,” he snapped. What had to be Stricklander’s eighth cup of espresso sat steaming innocently before the live-feed screens. “Don’t blame me if you’re too wired to think straight - ”

“I can’t change! Or the smell won’t wear off in time! Precautions for Worst-case Scenario Number Seven, remember? Did you even take notes?”

“Which one was that again?” Bular muttered, just to make it worse. “Mm. Nevermind. Can I eat the security team?”

“What?” Stricklander actually peeked over the station to better gauge whether Bular was being serious or not.

Bular pointed at Barbara. “Behold, the one who gave Jim his resourcefulness. I found her waiting for the elevator in the garage. So can I eat the security team for their embarrassing failure?”

Stricklander’s forehead thunked against a monitor as he took a moment to process that this was real, and not a cruel prank. Trust Bular to find the worst ways to benefit from every aspect of it, though.

“No, no eating people,” Barbara decided, pointing back at Bular. “And there is no need to hide from me, Walter, please come out, I’d like very much to talk with you. Goodness, are you all this dramatic all the time?”

The technician released a long-suffering sigh.


End file.
